Prophecy
by Die Schildkroten
Summary: Zelda moves to modernize Hyrule, Link is caught in between his principles and his loyalties, and Midna races to uncover the secret of Link's dreams as war looms on the horizon. Sequel to Cincinnatus, final arc of the Moments trilogy. Spoilers.
1. Prologue: The Revelation to John

Prologue: The Revelation to John

A wind that had teeth in it rifled through the gray coarseness of Link's fur and he growled, deep in his throat. In the silence of the desert it was always cold when the sun went down.

He loped his way up the staircase to the mirror chamber with a feral grace that belied the bluntness of his lupine body and scented the air; tonight, as on all other nights, it smelled of danger. He had been summoned, and he had come. It was the duty of the Hero to give audience to the Sages that waited in the Arbiter's Grounds, to hear their ancient, dusty complaints and give comfort to them.

But he was not the only soul who had come through the prison of the early Hylians tonight. He smelled the oils on the other's skin from where his hand had brushed up against a stone rampart, smelled vegetable dye and boot leather and the subtle perfume of nostalgia.

Link quickened his pace and knew that he was too late to stop the other before he reached the place where the Sages dwelled. He was already there. Link could hear his voice on the thinnest edge of the wind.

He rounded the staircase and stopped, coiled tight as a spring in a darkness that the incandescence of the Sages could not touch. The other was a Hylian- or was he?- well-built, wrapped head to toe in a brown cloak and something in his hands. The wolf wanted to leap down on him from a high place and tear out his throat with his jaws. Link just wanted to find out what he was doing here. He crept closer. Closer.

"-don't want me here, do you?" the man was saying, and Link knew from his voice that it wasn't the sort of question you ask looking for an answer. "It's always an embarrassment to the destined to run into someone who doesn't want to follow the script. You don't want me here, so speed me on my way. I'm ready."

The sages hesitated and the man pressed on, ferocious in his need. "_I want to go back._"

"You can never go back," said another mask sadly. "The door we guarded for a thousand years at the behest of the house of kings is closed forever. Hyrule is broken with the Twilight. Turn back, turn back, and return to the life you led. I tell you that you will never look upon the Twilight while you are alive."

"Yes, turn back," said another. "Save yourself while there remains a self to save."

"Only remember," begged a third. "Remember her. Remember us. Remember all of it-"

"Ganondorf was no friend to me," said the man harshly, and at the sound of that hated name Link tensed to leap. "But he taught me something before he died- a lesson. You call yourself sages, but there may still be hope for you. Come and study at the feet of the master, and I'll tell you what Ganondorf had to teach me."

"And what lesson was that?" asked the chief sage.

A plain leather scabbard clattered somewhere in the darkness and suddenly there was a naked sword in the man's hand. "He taught me," said the interloper, "that you could be killed."

As one the circle of sages drew back, horrified, and the man's laugh was a harsh and mirthless rattle in his throat, cut off almost as soon as it had begun. "Send me back," he said quietly. "Send me home. I know you can. Send me where you sent _him_. Do it."

A long moment passed and the tension rode the man like a pillar of flame. "_Do it_. There's nothing to keep me here anymore! What was it for, if not for this? Send me _back_!"

"You must know that we can't do that-" said the voice behind a shining mask, and then he was crumpled against a pillar with the point of the other's sword against his bone-china face hard enough to explode a spider's web of hairline cracks across it.

"Try," said the man, and then Link was exploding out of the shadows- slow, too slow. The cold desert air had the consistency of water and he could _feel_ himself losing momentum; soon he would be trapped at the apex of his leap like a butterfly pinned still-living to the cork. _What sorcery is this_? wondered Link, and then the other

turned around

and he saw his own face, brilliant and clear by the light of the moon-

_With a cry of shock Link vaulted out of bed, sending the sheets cascading into the air like the death throes of unhappy ghosts. Wild-eyed, he grappled with the hilt of his sword- when had he picked it up?- casting about madly in the empty room for an enemy that could not possibly be present. _

Midna clawed her way out from under the covers and sprang into the air. She caught his head between her hands and forced it still and looked urgently into his panicked eyes. "Link!" she cried. "Link, what the hell_- what's the matter with you? Calm down!" _

"He was here," he shouted, flustered, "in this room- with the sages- where did he go?"

Midna's fingers dug into his flesh. "There's nobody here," she insisted. "There's nobody here."

The frenzy left him by inches. Gradually his grip loosened on the sword; he allowed Midna to pull it from his hands and lean it, cautiously, against the oven. Link flexed and unflexed his fingers. "I could have sworn-" he said, and was silent.

Midna trembled in the air, awash with adrenaline. "Goddesses, Link," she said quietly. "What did you see_?" _

Link turned to look at her with a look on his face that spoke of a deep and haunted confusion.

Where was the mirror, Midna?

"Nothing," said Link, and collapsed heavily back into bed. "Nothing. It was just a dream."

* * *

The sequel to Cincinnatus and Moments  
Prophecy  
Coming Soon

Comments?


	2. By The Pricking Of My Thumbs

Chapter One  
By The Pricking Of My Thumbs

There is a current in the affairs of heroes, a tidal pull in the course of their lives that leads, inexorably, towards the place where they are going. Some call it destiny and some call it historical imperative, the theory that those destined to change the course of events have an inescapable obligation to do so; some don't believe in it and some won't believe in it and some resent it as bitterly as the dog resents the leash.

Link, the Hero of the two worlds and a force to be reckoned with in the arena of history, was mightily tired of it.

It had been easier when he had set out, in those first hectic days after Zelda's capitulation had brought the Twilight to Hyrule. Tasked with nothing more strenuous than the rescue of the village children, he had made his own decisions- the compass by which he navigated had been his own, the course he plotted of his own devising.

And had he believed that nothing had changed when they were safe and his focus had shifted from saving the children to changing the world? Had he believed that his choices had been his own?

Yes. He had. It was only possible in hindsight to make out the footprints of the goddesses. It had not occurred to him at the time that he was being led, for the same reason that a sailor who finds that his maps and charts have become useless overnight does not consider whether someone has re-arranged the arms of the compass so that east is south and west is north. There are things in this world that are too big for us, and when confronted with them we can do no more than plot a new course and pray for consistency. All that we can expect is for fortune not to hurt us more than it has to.

Then there had been Zelda- Zelda and the warlord, his princess and his nemesis. The engagement historians were already calling the Bulbin War had been settled in a single bloody battle on the margins of Hyrule- a decisive defeat for the bulbin invasion and a critical victory for the united forces of Hyrule and Prince Ralis of Zora. They said the casualties on both sides had been so great that even now they were still digging graves in the badlands.

Link had ridden out at the prompting of his conscience and Zelda's command to stop an invasion and he had left the body of the warlord headless and bloodied on the trampled grass. But he had been deceived.

It had not been an invasion at all. The war had started two weeks before, when Zelda's forces had fired a bulbin camp in the Gerudo highlands, and it had not been bad planning on the part of the princess but an intentional provocation to lure the warlord out of the fastness of the desert and into a position where she could set Link on him.

Zelda had played him like a Hylian loach, and to this day Link didn't know if it had been him or the warlord that she had set out to kill that day. He didn't know how deep her machinations went. Fate and Zelda had conspired against him and he was mildly surprised to find that he preferred fate. Fate, at least, wasn't personal.

These days Midna was the only one he trusted- _his_ Midna, his imp, the foreign queen he had fallen in love with and taken into his home. Link glanced over at her from where he stood by the oven and saw that she was absorbed in the incidental miracle of her breakfast.

Link's own plate of scrambled cuccoo eggs and brown bread sat untouched on the bench. Link was ill at ease and his appetite was always the first thing to go when times were bad.

"My dreams… have been bad just lately," he admitted, breaking the silence. When he glanced up he saw that Midna had put her salver aside and was giving him her undivided attention. It occurred to Link, randomly, that Midna might not actually need to eat.

"The chanting?" asked Midna, who knew something of Link's dreams. The hero shook his head.

"No," he said. "Well, no, that hasn't gone away. But it's- quieter, now, as if it's coming from far off."

The corners of Midna's mouth drooped down. She was worried about him. "What was in your dream, then?" she asked, and struggled to keep her tone light.

Link toyed distractedly with the hem of his tunic. "I was climbing to the Mirror Chamber at the Arbiter's grounds," he said. "But I was late and I knew it- someone had beaten me there. So I stuck to the shadows. He was- tall, my height, dark cloak." Midna saw Link's eyes move along the wall and knew that what he was seeing was nothing in the room.

"I don't remember what he was saying to the sages," said Link.

_You don't want me here, do you?_

"Something about wanting to go back."

_It's always an embarrassment to the destined to run into someone who doesn't want to follow the script._

"Something about wanting to go back to Twilight."

"_Back_ to Twilight?" asked Midna. "But he was a human, right?"

"Yes," said Link. "There's no question of that."

"Go on."

"Anyways the sages wouldn't do it- couldn't do it, maybe. I was too slow to keep him from attacking one of them. He had his sword against the sage's mask-"

_Try._

"-and I jumped for him. He turned around."

Silence.

"And?" prompted Midna, and Link laughed bleakly.

"And it was me. That's when I woke up."

Midna considered this soberly for a moment. "Could it have been like the vision Lanayru gave you?" she asked.

He thought about it then shrugged. "I wouldn't know. But it scared the hell out of me, I can tell you that much- like a hand falling on your shoulder in an empty room."

Link hesitated. "Midna," he said quietly.

"…yes?" she asked, curious.

The frame of the Mirror of Twilight had been empty. Even when Zant had broken it with mighty magic there had been a shard left, sticking out of the casing like a rotting tooth. But in his dream the frame was all that was left, a perfect circle with nothing inside it, a seamless hole in the world.

It hadn't scared him as much as his own face had. But it had been close.

"I know that- when you were going back to Twilight, after Ganondorf-" he began awkwardly (did her eyes widen slightly? Was she put on her guard?) "you-"

He stopped and started again. "Only the Queen of Twilight can break the mirror," he said quickly. "I know you can't access that power with the curse still on you, but if you had been able to-"

But the question had to be asked. "-would you have broken it?"

Shock flooded into Midna's face. "No, of course not," she said. "Why would I have done that?"

She was lying.

Link opened his mouth without knowing what he was about to say and was saved by a knock at the door. "I'll just get that," he said. Midna nodded and drew back into the obscuring gloom that gathered in the corners. Fighting for composure, Link opened the door to a face he knew.

"Shad?" asked Link, dumbfounded. The myopic scholar grinned shyly and raised his eyebrows on the doorstep.

"Surprised?" he asked. "I hope you don't mind- I was on my way to collect Rusl for an expedition of sorts and I thought I'd stop by and-"

"Well, come in out of the cold," said Link warmly. "You're always welcome here, Shad, never think otherwise- I don't forget my friends. An expedition?"

"Why, yes," said Shad, eagerly moving inside; Link shut the door behind him. Midna was somewhere in the shadows but there were two plates of food partially eaten on the bench, unrepentant witnesses to his fidelity. Link put himself casually between Shad and the remains of his breakfast.

If the intellectual had noticed he didn't say much about it. "There's some very interesting ruins," Shad went on heedlessly, "to the north and west of the woods- I'm told they're quite difficult to reach. No maps, you understand. But they may just be the most complete set of archaic structures in the whole of Hyrule- and virtually uncontaminated! If I'm in luck this might be where I find indisputable evidence of pre-Hylian civilization!"

"I would not be in the least surprised," Link said gravely. Midna giggled from the shadows. Shad scowled and shook his head.

"The eastern woods, though- they don't sound at all jolly," he said, looking faintly worried. "I've heard there are violet mists that can strip flesh from the bone."

"Words can't describe it," said Link. "The fog is alive, you know."

Shad's features contorted into a grimace of alarm. "The devil you say!"

"So I've ever suspected. But you'll be fine as long as you bring lanterns- _lots_ of lanterns," he amended, "lanterns and long poles on which to swing them. The lanterns, that is. It helps if you're on good terms with the monkeys, but they're not what I would call reliable."

"Monkeys?" asked Shad. Link shook his head.

"Not important. I hope you have more fighters than Rusl- with a sword in his hand he's the devil himself, but the bokoblins are vicious around this time of year."

"Ah, yes," said Shad brightly, "it's the whole gang, sans Telma, of course. I won't lack for bodyguards."

"He'll need them," said Midna, "if the Leaf Dancers are abroad- the moppet'll take them apart if they don't- watch- out!" Her laugh was a silver spoon tapped against a crystal goblet. Link didn't find it particularly funny.

But that was Midna, wasn't it? The world was an endless source of amusement for her; the imp glided sly and invisible through life with a sanguine giggle and a mind that could find the humor in things so dark and benighted that you would think the sun would be ashamed to shine.

They were very different. It was why he loved her.

"Well, that's good," said Link, distracted. "Good. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Seriously, Link," Midna murmured, "we ought to tag along- they might actually find the door, and where would they be then? Besides, it'll be fun. Like the good old days."

"I don't want to go with them," said Link. Shad blinked.

"Come again?" he said carefully. Link shook his head.

"It was nothing."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Ashei with you?"

"She is. She sends her regards."

Link laughed. "No she doesn't."

After a moment Shad joined in. "No, I- ha- I suppose she doesn't at that. She would, you know, if she was-"

"Someone else?" asked Link. "Listen, you want the Dominion Rod?"

Shad frowned. "I- well, I can't imagine why-"

"Neither can I," said Midna sharply.

"It came to me in a dream," said the hero, ignoring both of them. "I've been having powerful dreams just lately. It's just over here."

Shad cast a glance at the breakfast dishes as Link moved away towards the chest he had not yet moved back to the cellar and immediately made the connection Link had not wanted him to make: there was someone else in the house with them, or had been just lately.

The revelation left him slightly ill at ease, but Shad was fortunate; he would have been considerably more unsettled had he known that Midna was sitting between his legs like a discontented housecat, as insubstantial as tobacco smoke. She was pouting.

"Link," she called, "that's an important artifact. You can't give it to Shad."

"Perhaps you can make use of it," said Link. Midna scowled.

"Of _course_ he can make use of it," she said. "That's why you can't give it to him. Give this man a little knowledge and you've made him dangerous."

"Perhaps I can," said Shad at the same time. "Well, it's good of you to help me out, Link."

"Hmph. Well, don't say I didn't warn you-" said Midna, but Shad cut her off.

"All the same," he went on, heedless, "it's a damned shame that I'll have to miss the coronation."

Link stopped, closed his eyes. "What?" Midna asked, alarmed. "Ask him!"

"Coronation?" said Link. "Who and to what end?" Shad's face creased in honest puzzlement.

"Why, Princess Zelda and Prince Ralis of Zora," he said. "They're to be wed- you hadn't heard? That's deuced odd, if you ask me. In any event it promises to be a gala affair- quite unique in the history of Hyrule, quite possibly a landmark occasion." Link was rubbing his temples like a man in some pain. The silence dragged out until Shad feared he would be drowned in it.

Of course, he was only privy to half of the conversation.

"I thought you said-" Midna accused, and stopped. "No, I'm sorry- that's not fair. But how did this happen? Ralis knows Zelda orchestrated the war-"

"How strange," said Shad, awkwardly, "that you hadn't heard of it! When Crown Prince Sancho II took a bride- this was in the Pelumbic Dynasty, you understand- he sent riders to every town and province in Hyrule to spread word of his ascension. They say ten thousand Hylians came to the processional, which is a terrible anachronism of course, but-"

"I did in part suspect it," said Link. "It's the opposite of what any normal soul would do, but neither of them are _people_, as such- they're royals. I put both of them on the throne, you know. Do you think history will forgive me that?"

Shad opened his mouth and closed it. "Well," he said finally, "I don't know what there would be to forgive-"

"I wasn't talking to you," snapped Link, and Shad wasn't quite sure what to say about that. For a moment he thought he heard someone whispering urgently.

There was a disconcerting pause and then Link smiled.

"I was talking to myself," he said. "It was a- what do you call it when you ask a question but you don't want-"

"A rhetorical question?"

"A rhetorical question, that's it," said Link. Midna breathed out in the shadows and Link bent down to resume his search.

"Why do you seem so unhappy about it?" asked Shad, befuddled. "I thought you and the princess-"

"Unhappy?" said Link, fishing the scepter out of his trunk and hefting it experimentally. "I don't know why you would think something like that. I'm sure I wish our princess the best in her married life. Here, take this."

The scholar took the Dominion Rod gingerly from Link's hands. "Are you all right, Link?" he asked plaintively. "You seem- different."

"Different," said Link, and Shad thought he could hear fear in his voice. "Why, different how?"

"Not yourself," said Shad. "You just don't seem like yourself today. Are you sure-"

An flicker of terror, gone too fast for the scholar to be sure of it. "I'm fine," said Link calmly. "It's just a surprise, that's all. It was good to see you again, Shad."

And he meant it, Shad was sure of that. This was his old friend, Link, but…

"Well, it was good to see you too," he said, abandoning that train of thought; something told him he wanted nothing to do with it. "I'm- I'm sure we'll see you when we come back through, yes? Perhaps we could take a meal together, like we used to back in the tavern?"

Link's face was as placid as the full moon. "That would be lovely," he said. "Good fortune, Shad."

"Good fortune, Link," said the scholar, and let himself out. He cursed the racing of his heart as he slipped down the ladder and tried to convince himself that he hadn't been lucky to escape with his life- for the Goddesses' sake it was only _Link._

Back in the house Midna drew herself up out of the shadows and looked at Link with her one visible eye so wide that it was a perfect circle in her face. "Ralis and Zelda- married?"

Link collapsed heavily into a chair. "So it would seem," he said. "I don't approve, of course, but what can you do? Rude of them not to have invited us."

"But we have to go," said Midna. Link snorted.

"Have to?" he said. "Clearly they don't want us there, and to be frank I don't want to be there. Ralis doesn't like us and it's completely possible that Zelda tried to kill me. I didn't like either of them while they were still in the junior grades and I doubt we're going to get along better now that they're the King and Queen of Hyrule."

Midna frowned. "But we still have to go," she pointed out.

"Why is that?" said Link. 

"Because we don't know what Zelda is planning," said Midna. "Because they haven't forgotten about us any more than you've forgotten about them. Because I would love to have a chance to sample some posh Palace food- I love you, but you're a lousy cook." Link looked unconvinced.

So Midna plunged on: "Because you don't want to be caught off guard again."

"Ah," said Link, standing up. "I see."

"So we're going?"

"We are," said Link. "But we're not staying any longer than we have to."

"Aw, Link-"

"I mean it, Midna," he said, cutting her off. "Zelda and Ralis sitting on the throne of Hyrule- that's an ill omen, and I like it not. We'll go and see them wed, and you have your fill of the hors d'oeuvres, and then once we find out what their intentions are we'll go home."

Link belted on his sword and took down his shield from over the fire. "I swear to the goddesses, Midna," he went on, "I'm not getting dragged into it this time. They can find someone else. This time it's not my problem."

"Good luck with that," said Midna, floating behind him. "If there's one thing I know it's that sooner or later everything starts being your problem."

Her words hung ominously on the air after they had gone, like an indication of things to come. 


	3. Warning Signs

Chapter Two  
Warning Signs

_She let him in, of course- what did it profit her to stand against him? What did it advantage her to stand before the avalanche and deny it as it came thundering down from on high? She couldn't stop him, then or now. The only difference was that it wouldn't have occurred to him to force the way, before._

_He had been another man in those days._

_Link knelt before the imperial throne in a pantomime of obsequience that probably didn't even fool the courtiers. Of course, it was hard for anyone who knew what he had done in the desert to find his posturings believable. Zelda felt her stomach roll queasily in her gut and swallowed down on the fear. _

_"My princess," said Link, and neither of them noticed the wolf from where he watched in the shadow of a pillar, eyes gleaming like carbuncles from the deep hollows of his skull._

_"Link," acknowledged Zelda, and dismissed the courtiers with a regal nod. They filed out of the room grumbling like peacocks and no less colorfully attired._

_The other didn't bother to wait on privacy. "Marry me," he said, and just like that everyone in the room was a statue. Zelda rose to her feet in a cascade of pink silk and shot the guard captain on duty a glance with about the force of a musket ball behind it._

_The throne room guard swept towards the courtiers, scattering them like birds. Zelda glared down at Link with a cold fury burning in her eyes and said "There was a time when such impetuousness would be grounds for war."_

_"I don't have a country for you to declare war on. Perhaps I used to, but I don't anymore."_

_"Execution, then, and why should I marry you?"_

_"Why, I'll tell you," said Link. "You should marry me because then I'll be on your side, and because if you don't you'll never find out whose side I'm on."_

_"If there are so many prospective allies clamoring for your fealty, then why come to me?"_

_"Why princess, I'm surprised you would even ask," he said, not sounding in the least surprised. "You have something that I need."_

_"And what is that-"_

_"_I can see you,_" said the other, turning to glare at Link with cobalt eyes from which there was something missing, and Link knew that if he could figure out what it was then that would be it, the dreams would be gone forever, but the sight of his own face filled him with an unreasoning scrabbling terror and that was when Link woke up._

Link shook his head and tried like hell to pay attention to Zelda's speech. It was an uphill battle. There were many things which Link was not- a general, a thief, particularly religious- but chief and foremost among the ranks of traits and qualities Link did not have was this: he was not a politician. Quite probably Zelda's speech meant something to Midna; perhaps it even meant something to the Hylian elite, spread out in the temple below him like a sheet stretched taut over a mattress. To him it meant nothing, and that worried him.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," said Midna. "It's like a nightmare, really. How long do you think she's been going on?"

"Who can say?" Link replied absently.

The dream had come to him the previous night, camped out in the fields south of Hyrule with an army blanket over him and Midna curled up against his side with the bony spurs of her elbows digging into his ribs- not that he minded, really. Somehow he had managed not to wake her up, but neither had he managed to fall back asleep again afterwards.

_I can see you._ And what the hell was he supposed to take away from that?

It was a dream, of course. Nothing less and nothing more. All the same, it gnawed at him.

Link gave it a brutal shove, watched in satisfaction as it tumbled to the back of his mind, and tried to concentrate on Zelda. It seemed to be winding down.

"…I can say only this," the princess said in a high clear voice that echoed to the rafters of the sacred hall. "I know that it will be history, and not you, my people, who judge me for what I do here today. However much you love me now, in a hundred years all that will be left of me will be my statue in some dusty antechamber of the palace and the works I leave behind me when I must depart from you."

A murmur of disagreement rippled through the throng. "Have you noticed," said Midna, carefully, "how much she's been talking about the future?"

"No," Link admitted.

"Prince Ralis, our trusty and well-beloved cousin, weds me for the good of his people and his princedom, as one must do when one is born into power as I have been. We marry for the prosperity and the security of Hyrule, looking forward to a better and a gentler tomorrow- a day more generous to all the children of the Goddesses that created our world, a day more peaceful than today has been and wiser than yesterday. As well, of course," and here Zelda looked down demurely, "as love."

A staccato of applause greeted this; Link snorted derisively in the balcony.

"There, she's done it again," said Midna. She sounded faintly worried.

"What does it mean?" asked Link.

"Oh, I wouldn't know," said Midna hurriedly. Link shrugged his shoulders and glanced back at Zelda. The clapping was winding down.

"Marriage," said Zelda, "is a sacrament I have twice tasted. Hyrule was my first love, and I am wed to this kingdom as firmly as any wife has ever been bound to her husband. The life of a princess can at times be a bitter one; I know that I can never love any man as fiercely as I love my country."

"Marriage," said Midna, savoring the word like fine wine. "Let's get married, Link."

"…but that is the fate of kings, is it not?"

"Wouldn't work," said Link. "We'd never find a celebrant who'd perform the ceremony, for one thing."

"…living a life of service not to the self but to the many…"

"Of course not," said Midna wistfully. "It was just a joke."

"…putting the good of the kingdom at a price higher than your own life…"

"Still, it would have been nice."

"…so that when you've gone you might be remembered with fondness."

Link sat straight up on the bench. "I think she's coming down to it."

Zelda extended one gloved hands to the heavens. "But this is not the place nor is it the time for philosophy," she said, "for today is a day of great joy- both for myself and for you my people. I awoke this morning as a princess, but when I bed down tonight it will be beside my beloved Prince Ralis as the Queen of Hyrule."

The applause was deafening. "Bring forth the crowns!" cried Zelda, above the din of the crowd. "A new day is dawning on Hyrule! Bring forth the crowns and let us march with no regrets into our glorious future! Together! My people!"

(Afterwards, when it was all over, Link could never be sure how much of it he was remembering and how much of it was fiction, a devil's brew of Zelda's propaganda and his own weariness and the sheer unyielding showmanship of the thing. The crowns, he remembered the crowns- works of art commissioned especially for the wedding and coronation by the finest artisans in the land and beneath the lake, his of brilliant coral and hers, more conventionally, of beaten gold. Even in memory the deafening fanfare of the trumpets made his ears ring. He recalled the sight of the nobles and bankers and soldiers and farmers of Hyrule rising rank by rank to add the thunder of their applause to the cacophony; by the end of it he had wanted to cheer himself.

But who was it that crowned them? Link couldn't remember. They said it had been a priest but it might have just as easily been a sage (because there was nothing wrong with the sages, he reminded himself, only Ganondorf had ever killed one- not him, never him). Or had Zelda crowned Ralis with her own hands before turning and taking the golden crown from the velvet cushion and lowered it down on her own blond tresses with a smile on her face of satisfied self-congratulation?

He wondered, sometimes, how it had really been in that high stone chamber, redolent with the stink of pomp and faded grandeur and the sweat of a thousand years of kings. If the whole thing had been a sham or if that was only his bitterness, sitting on his shoulder and whispering poisoned words into his ear. (Long live the Queen!)

He supposed he would never know for sure.)

* * *

Afterwards, when the wedding was done and Zelda's feast was just beginning, Link went down to the main hall of the temple to mingle with the well-to-do. "And," he said quietly into his hand, "to get you some food. After sitting through all of that, I think Zelda owes us both some refreshment." 

"Food," said Midna from the shadows. "What a wonderful idea that is."

She spotted Zelda at the high table. "But that's for later. I have to do something first- duty calls!"

"Midna-" said Link, and gave up; she was gone. Of course there was no way to know for sure if Midna was riding your shadow, but along the course of their acquaintance he had gotten very good at knowing if she was there or not at any given time. She wasn't at the moment- there was something lost from the air. Link sighed and took a look around.

He was out of place amidst all of the glitter- he knew that. He wouldn't have even made it past the front gates if one of the guards hadn't been a veteran from the Bulbin Wars who remembered his face and had seen him carrying the head of the warlord into Zelda's tent. Link was not by nature a self conscious man but the splendour of the occasion was beginning to unnerve him.

There were a knot of clergymen in their pearly robes, chatting animatedly by the punch bowl. There were the Goron ambassadors, all dressed up for the sake of propriety, looking ridiculous in their tailored clothes- no clothesmaker who ever lived could make an eight hundred pound Goron tribesman look good in a suit. The fancy armor of Zelda's high command was resplendent in the candlelight; her advisers wore the latest Castle Town fashions in the priciest fabrics.

All Link had was a slightly battered green tunic, his mail, a pair of tights that had seen better days, and a hat which was- he admitted to himself- kind of silly-looking.

Granted, this was not the sort of society he usually associated with; granted, it wasn't likely that he'd ever have much to do with them in the future. All the same, he didn't feel particularly-

"You know," said a voice behind him, "I've never felt altogether comfortable at this kind of party. Small talk is not an area in which I am naturally inclined. It's good to see you, Link- slightly unexpected, I'll admit-"

The smile was half-formed on Link's face as he turned to greet Barbarossa but it froze in place by the time the soldier was in view.

"-but good."

Link looked at Barbarossa's face, glanced at his epaulets, did a fast mental calculation, and went back to his face again.

"General," he said in greeting.

It seemed that promotion was catching.

* * *

Princess Zelda- Queen Zelda now, she supposed, although for a title she had been hungering after for years it was taking a surprising length of time for her to wrap her mind around it- raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. It was unsurprisingly excellent. 

So too was the company at the head table. At her left her husband, King Ralis of Zora, now the joint ruler of all the land between Zora's Domain and Ordon Province; at her right, the Lord Chamberlain, the man who in theory was responsible for managing a Queen's schedule. In front of her, dignitaries from every province of Hyrule, and every one of them wondering what she was going to do next.

This, Zelda understood, was power. Power was being able to inspire that sort of apprehension.

"Hello, Princess," whispered Midna lyrically in her ear. "I thought maybe we could talk."

Of course, there was more than one kind of apprehension.

"Would you pardon me, gentlemen?" asked Zelda, and favored them with a serene smile as she pushed back her carved chair. 'Please' was not a word to be used by Queens.

She didn't hurry as she walked to the back of the hall and slipped in through the doors to the kitchen. Hurrying was another thing that Queens did not do.

"Find a quiet place with a door that locks," advised Midna, "we wouldn't want to be interrupted, would we? Eee hee hee!"

The palace had several kitchens, ranging from great sweltering halls that could prepare nine courses for five hundred guests to claustrophobic little nooks reserved exclusively for Royal Family affairs. This one was probably in use, but when Zelda pushed open the door the two or three harried cooks in residence took one look at the expression on her face and departed without being bidden. Zelda closed the iron door and latched it.

When she turned around Midna was leaning back on a butcher's block with her legs crossed and her hands splayed out behind her for support. She looked as satisfied as a fox in a chicken coop.

"I liked the speech," she said, giving Zelda a toothy smile. A flash of something like pain crawled over Zelda's face.

"We used to get along, didn't we?" she asked. "What happened, Midna?"

Midna drew deeply of the kitchen air. "Mm, fresh-baked bread. You know, this world of yours is a very unsettling place in all sorts of ways- it took me some time to get used to the sun- but let me tell you, I just _can't get enough_ of the food. Twilight cuisine is wallpaper paste in comparison. If Zant had ever tasted boar-"

"Midna," snapped Zelda, and the imp's grin grew wider.

"I was wondering what your intentions were," she said idly. "It really was a very good speech."

"My intentions," said the Queen. "I have to have intentions now?"

"Oh, don't kid a kidder, Twilight Princess," said Midna with an airy gesture of dismissal. "You were laying the foundations for something. Nobody talks about the future that much unless they have a very specific plan for it."

"It's Queen, thank you," said Zelda.

"Touchy subject?" smirked Midna. "You would have been Queen a long time ago if you had had your way with Link."

"And you," shot back Zelda, "would have been Queen a long time ago if they had been willing to take you back."

There was a fuming silence. Zelda narrowed her eyes.

"That is why you're still here, isn't it?" she asked. "And noticeably cursed, I might add. What were _your_ intentions, Midna, back when you had a home to have intentions for?"

"I made my own decisions," said Midna, without irony. "At least I ended up with someone I loved rather than someone I could use."

"Link," said Zelda darkly, "has his uses." The imp laughed, as if it didn't hurt.

"Not to you, Twilight Princess!"

"Queen," snapped Zelda.

"Oh, Zelda, you'll always be a princess to me."

"You might as well go," said the Queen dismissively. "You're not going to get anything from me."

"Yes, princess," asked Midna curiously, "What _did_ happen between us?"

"I saw the light," said Zelda. "And you came back."

Midna sat up and narrowed her eyes. "Would you like to know what I think?" she asked. "I think I liked you better when you were a political prisoner locked up high in a tower, playing at being a princess while the whole world fell in around you. You may have been a spoiled, idealistic brat but you had a little honor and a little pride, which might I add is more than you have now-"

"Get out," said Zelda. "You don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"Then _tell_ me."

"No." Zelda turned and put her hand on the doorknob.

"You can't beat him, Zelda," called Midna from behind her. "He's bigger than both of us."

Zelda didn't even hesitate. "I already have."

The door slammed shut behind her and Zelda stalked off towards the great hall before reminding herself that she was a Queen, and Queens did not hurry.

Her heart was a broken bone throbbing in her chest; Zelda shoved the regret brutally down and concentrated on the plan. She had forsaken Midna or Midna had forsaken her but that had nothing to do with Hyrule or the future or any of it. Midna didn't matter anymore. She was obsolete.

And the plan ground on without her.

* * *

"Surprised? I was. But Isenbruch had a bit of a breakdown, I'm afraid, and Muntz was never really suited for the high command and so… here I am." 

Barbarossa smiled. Link smiled. They smiled.

Link was the first to drop it. "I'm sure that the army will be a force to be reckoned with, now that you're in a position to pull some strings."

Barbarossa laughed. "Oh, it's always been a force to be reckoned with," he said jovially. "It just didn't know it."

"It would have been nice if it had remembered before the war," said Link.

The mirth left Barbarossa's face like a receding tide. "That's in the past," he said softly. "Things are changing, Link. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try," said Link.

"Zelda's reorganized the army," said Barbarossa. "The new high command is seventy percent veterans. Recruitment has skyrocketed thanks to her speeches, the first one and the second one, and the subsequent monuments- we've had to move the training grounds outside the city to accommodate them all. We're doing away with pikemen and swelling the size of the calvary by five hundred heads. If the warlord were to come again tomorrow we would rout him with half the casualties we suffered that day and if you ask me in a month I'll change that number to a quarter."

"Because what Zelda needs- what she really needs?" said Link. "Is an army."

"Grow up," snapped Barbarossa, "the army isn't for her. It's for Hyrule. For the good of the people."

"So was the war," returned Link. "but it wouldn't have happened if Zelda hadn't started it."

"And you'd rather we stayed where we were back then?" demanded Barbarossa. "With five hundred rusted hauberks and a thousand pikes so cheap you could bend the blade in half with one hand? You know there were wolves in the streets of Castle Town six months ago? Where were you?"

"Actually, that's an interesting story," began Link, but Barbarossa cut him off.

"A strong army is in the best interests of the people," he insisted. "I don't care if you don't like her. If we'd been in strength five years ago there's people under the ground who would be alive today. Who are you to put your prejudices above their lives?"

"He's got a point, you know," said Midna, arriving silently. "Link, we should go. You were right about Zelda-"

"Zelda's war killed your command practically down to the last man," said Link softly. "You of all people should know better than to trust her." From somewhere behind him someone screamed.

Barbarossa held his gaze. "And now she's giving me a command I can be proud of," said Barbarossa. "Times are changing, Link. They're changing for the better."

Another scream. The crowd jostled against Link as they surged back and he turned to see what was going on.

The Goron ambassadors were shouldering their way through the crowd with a single-minded determination. Their faces were identical masks of anger.

"This?" asked Link to the world at large. "This is better?"

"What do they think they're doing?" demanded Barbarossa. Link shook his head.

"This was a mistake," he said. The Gorons had made it to the great doors to the hall; as he watched one of them tore off his ridiculous suit and tossed it to the ground in rags and tatters. Link turned to where Zelda sat at the head table and for a single moment of agonizing clarity he thought he could see satisfaction in her face.

Then it was gone, and so were the Gorons. The discarded suit lay bunched on the floor like a dead seabird.

"I shouldn't have come," said Link. "I'm sorry, Barbarossa."

"Listen," said the soldier, "This is why it's important-"

"Link," hissed Midna urgently.

"For all it's worth, I hope you're right," said Link. "Goodbye, Barbarossa."

There was no response. Link turned and walked for the doors the Gorons had not bothered to close, idly wondering if anyone was going to be foolish enough to try and stop him. Somehow he doubted it. He was no longer a priority.

It should have been a comforting thought.

Link slipped out of the hall and into the gathering night.


	4. Brothers

_Here's your basic Chapter Three- this one was a bastard to write, but I am fairly happy with how it ended up. We're starting to get to it now but I'm beginning to worry about the burgeoning length of my chapters- are they too long to maintain focus? I'd break this one up if I could figure out where._

_Anyways, here it is. Comments are always desirable._

* * *

Chapter Three  
Brothers 

In his heart of hearts, Renado knew he made a poor shaman. Men in his line of work were supposed to be serene, contemplative. Renado was good at serene. He was a veritable master of contemplative.

But there was a certain aloofness you found in the really good shamans, the ones who were living with one foot in the material world and one foot in the world of spirits just outside of the borders of rationality- a detachment from the triumphs and the tragedies that those who walked the waking world were heir to.

Renado couldn't do that. Ordinary life crept in, as stealthy as a thief in the night.

It was not romantic. It offered no compensations. But it was nevertheless more of a temptation for him than drink or power or any of the thousand evils that waited on either side of the path of the righteous and whispered falsehoods and honeyed promises to the men that walked it.

He was a shaman who had taken a wife and fathered a daughter. Had he done this out of some weakness in his character, some essential failing-? No. Renado knew, because shamans were practical people, that the earth spun about the sun with the measured precision of a vicar's clock, but someone said that it was love that made the world go 'round, and Renado was just impractical enough to know that this was true.

He had never meant to stay so long in Kakariko but here he was, thirty years later, still working out of a pokey sanctuary and keeping his whitewashed secrets, because he had loved his wife and he loved his daughter still. And perhaps he had grown to love Kakariko too, a little. It was an oven in the summer and you couldn't go out at night for the birds, but the sunsets were incredible and when you got right down to it there had been worse reasons. Renado knew, because he had used most of them himself.

Kakariko- that was part of the problem. At first it had just been the old men, coming for a drier climate and the comforting proximity of the springs, and that had been all right. But when word got out that there were houses and stores standing empty for the taking Kakariko had become the land of opportunity overnight. Every day since the bridge was finished had brought more of them. When there were no more empty houses they slept in tents and under the stars. They were the disenfranchised, the poor of Castle Town, the farmer's sons and baker's daughters who couldn't make a place for themselves in their parent's world and so had come to a world that wasn't quite finished- a world with potential. And every damned one of them was looking for someone to tell them how it all worked.

He couldn't have left it up to Barnes.

Ordinary life! He had never set out to be a husband or a father and he certainly had never set out to be the de facto mayor of Kakariko. But there it was. You couldn't get away from it, or turn it away on your doorstep. It wasn't hard. If it was hard the poor bastards wouldn't be able to do it. So you did it, and you did the best job you could, and you tried not to care that your life wasn't turning out the way you had wanted it to.

"Renado?"

The shaman looked up sharply and it was Link, standing in the dust in front of the sanctuary and looking as if he had ridden through the night, which was in fact the case. He arranged his features into a gentle grin.

"Link?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

The Ordonian looked as if he wasn't completely certain of where 'here' might be. "I've just been to the coronation," he said. "The Gorons-"

Ah. So that was how it was.

"Come and take a meal with me," said Renado. Link didn't refuse.

* * *

In the sanctuary, Luda brought them cornbread and roasted peppers, the staples of local cuisine by virtue of being among the very few plants that would consent to grow in the alkaline soil of Kakariko. Link took a hunk of the former and enough of the latter to be polite- he had been raised on bland country food and the peppers bit like a bastard. From time to time, when Renado was distracted, he would slip one to Midna under the table. 

"…I don't know the details, of course," said the shaman. "I stay out of the political side of things whenever I can. But Zelda has clearly done something to upset the Gorons."

"I didn't see any when I was coming in," noted Link. "Are they taking it out on you? Seems slightly unfair."

Renado shook his head. "They were already withdrawing the last time you came through- there wasn't much left for them to accomplish here. But there's some mingling going on- they're our neighbors, after all."

Link casually let his hand drop below the level of the table and felt a slight tug as Midna caught the pepper between her teeth and pulled it from his fingers. Link found the fact that Midna was eating from his hand like a common pet both amusing and faintly horrifying. It was far from dignified.

You could never be quite sure what Midna would do next. Of course, that was part of the appeal. One moment she was proposing marriage and the next she was eating peppers out of the palm of your hand. It was hard to know what to think.

But it seemed to make her happy, and that was enough for him.

"I can't imagine why Zelda would be provoking the Gorons," said Link, forcibly directing his thoughts back towards the topic at hand. "Where's the profit?" Renado frowned.

"Does it have to be intentional?" he asked. "It's hard for outsiders to get a feel for the Goron mindset. I think I understand them as well as any man alive, and even so half the time I don't know what's going through their heads."

Link shook his head. "Zelda never does anything by mistake," he said. "She never does anything without a motive. You should have seen them, Renado. I have never seen Gorons so angry as the ambassadors were when they walked out."

"Only rarely have I seen a Goron angry at all," admitted Renado, faintly ill at ease.

"You should have seen them," Link said again. "I hope she knows what she's doing, that's all. Goddesses know she doesn't deserve it but I hope she knows what she's doing. Antagonizing the Gorons- there's just no way that that's a good idea."

"You're going to see Darbus?" asked Renado.

"Gor Coron," corrected Link, "Gor Amoto if I can't find Gor Coron, Darbus if I can't find either of them. He's a good leader but he has no reason to confide in me- that and I just like Gor Coron better." He idly slipped a pepper under the table.

"You might have a time getting there," said Renado. "I've heard reports that the ladder to Darunia's Staircase has been taken." Link felt a sudden damp warmth as Midna leaned forward and took his fingers gently between her teeth. He tugged gingerly to no effect.

"You've heard reports?" said Link, mystified. (Under the table, moving as slightly as possible, he tried to wiggle his fingers free. Midna held on in a way that suggested either playfulness or determination.)

Renado looked slightly embarrassed. "The new residents seem to have put their trust in me," he explained. "I do what I can for them."

Link hissed between his teeth as Midna bit abruptly down. She let go as Renado half-rose in concern and he tore his hand free in a single galvanic motion.

"Are you all right?" asked the shaman, voice edged with worry.

"Perfectly fine," said Link, "just an old wound acting up." He was rewarded with a ghostly giggle from the vicinity of the floor.

A perfect drop of blood welled up from where the pearly fang in the corner of Midna's mouth had pierced the skin on the pad of his index finger. He wiped it clean on his tunic.  
"Are you sure?" said Renado.

"Quite sure," said Link, pushing back his chair. "Thank you for lunch, Renado- it was delicious."

"Any time," said Renado, looking not quite convinced. "Good luck with the Gorons."

"No fear," said Link. "I'll soon get to the bottom of this."

His hand was on the doorknob when Renado called out "Wait." Link half turned and smiled.

Renado hesitated. "I never asked you-" he began. "When you came to me-"

"I'll tell you, if you like," said Link.

"Did you… did you find what you were looking for?"

Link's finger stung him like his mouth had the first time he had bitten down on a Kakariko pepper. First his eyes had watered, and then the slow fire had blossomed on the rough carpet of his tongue and scorched his taste buds until they were doing little more than screaming at his brain. It had been days before he had been able to taste food again.

The only way to deal with them was to keep eating them, and sooner or later they wouldn't burn anymore. Sooner or later you would reach a point where even the burn became normal, where you could get past the pain and taste the flavor behind it.

And could you ever come back from that? Once you were used to the taste of the peppers, how could you go back to the bland and unsavory food you had eaten before? Link didn't think you could. That was the choice you made- you could get used to the peppers. You could get used to anything if you tried hard enough at it. But once the peppers were normal nothing else could ever be normal again.

_Did you find what you were looking for?_

"Yes," said Link, "I think I did, at that."

"Oh," said Renado. "All right."

"Thank you, Renado," said Link, and let himself out.

* * *

"That was a bad thing you did," said Link when they were far enough away. Midna laughed musically from his shadow. 

"I couldn't help it," she said. "Those peppers were hot- I needed a drink."

Link couldn't help but laugh. "That's disgusting," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

"There's a Goron over there," Midna remarked suddenly. Link looked up, slightly startled. The imp was right; there was a Goron standing by a steam vent some thirty feet away with his arms crossed over his prodigious chest.

Link waved in salute and kept walking.

"The problem," he said, changing the subject, "as I see it, is that we can't tell him. He's a shaman, that's the crux. We know he _suspects_, but what would he do if we confirmed his suspicions? Most people, we'd tell them and they'd just be very surprised. Renado's going to have strong feelings on spirits in general straight off. I don't think we can afford it."

"M-hm" said Midna. "You know, that Goron doesn't look so friendly."

"It's a Goron," said Link dismissively. "Gorons like me. We've always gotten along. It's a pity, because he's quite likely the only person who would even consider performing the ceremony."

"The Goron?" asked Minda.

"Renado," said Link.

"The ceremony?"

"The wedding, of course," said Link. "Don't tell me you've forgotten, imp?"

"That's a good thought," said the imp, "and I don't want you to think that I'm harping on this, but could I just mention again the issue of the Goron-"

"Nobody gets past," said the Goron. Link stopped in his tracks.

The Goron was maybe seven feet tall, with the characteristic solidity of his race. His arms hung at his sides like slabs of granite. His belly traced the rusted iron curve of a cannonball. If you poked him in the eye you'd probably break your finger, but you wouldn't have time to whimper over it because shortly thereafter he'd break every bone in your body. He would do this by falling on you.

Link was at a loss as to whether or not he had met this particular Goron before; he had the curious anonymity that made his people so difficult to tell apart. Link had from time to time suspected that the Gorons called each other 'Brother' because they could never be sure from one moment to the next where they stood in relation to the Goron they were talking to- or who that Goron was.

"You are doing a good job," said Link kindly. "Well done. I'm going to go and see Gor Coron."

"Nobody gets past," said the Goron again.

"That's the idea," said Link, and kept walking. He made it five steps before the Goron's open palm slammed into the base of his spine so hard his legs went numb and sent him sprawling to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.

He rolled on his back just in time to see Midna's hair arch up behind the Goron, crackling with power as the glowing fingers clenched into a fist the size of a boulder. _"No!"_ he cried.

The imp vanished into the ether and as the Goron turned ponderously to look back Link sprang to his feet, drawing the Master Sword one-handed as he did.

His legs immediately gave out, sending him crashing back into the dust. Ah. So it was going to be one of _those_ days.

The Goron shuffled towards him, fists cocked at eye level to knock Link down if he showed any signs of getting up. Link scrambled back, hauled himself once more into something resembling an upright position. This time his legs stayed where they were supposed to. He hefted his sword and darted the tip forward, once, twice. It skittered off the Goron's tough hide the first time and the second time he slapped it away like a particularly irritating mosquito and shoved Link down with his other hand.

Link's tailbone made brisk contact with the rocky skin of the earth and he ground his teeth against the sickening wave of pain. The Goron was reaching down to grab him. Link decided he couldn't be having with that and brought his sword up to smack his opponent alongside the head with the flat of the blade.

The next thing he knew he was no longer holding the Master Sword, largely in consequence of the fact that the Goron had picked him up and was holding him aloft six feet above the ground. Link had a sudden dizzying vision of the immediate future. It contained rocks.

"All _right_," he said, resigned. "Midna, take him apart-"

"Brother! Brother!"

Link craned his neck and swore viciously. It was another Goron, and this one was running.

"Damned if I haven't had enough of _this_," he said to the world at large, and lashed out with one boot. The heel of his foot caught the Goron right between the eyes and he let Link go with a howl of indignation.

Link hit the ground hard and rolled, catching up the Master Sword along the way. He somersaulted to his feet and whipped the broadsword into a flawless warrior's stance.

"Nobody move," he said casually. "Don't make me use this." Ten feet away the second Goron skidded to an awkward stop and proceeded to ignore Link completely.

"That's a Brother, Brother," he wheezed. "That's the human who fought his way through the mine when Darbus was having his troubles."

There was a horrified silence. Link sighed and sheathed his sword.

"You could have come a little sooner," he said to the newcomer.

"I am so very sorry-" began the Goron who had hit him, but Link waved him off.

"No harm done," he said. "You've got a hell of an arm on you, haven't you? Well done. I'll be going."

He stalked away in the direction of the mines. After a few moments the second Goron caught up with him.

"It's not his fault, Brother," he panted, struggling to keep up. "The way things have been going-"

"What way is that?" snapped Link.

"Badly- could you slow down a little? We can't run as fast as you can-"

Link stopped so fast the Goron almost lurched to his knees, heaved a sigh, and went on again a little slower than before. His rescuer nodded gratefully.

They did not speak much on the way to the mine entrance. From time to time Link would ask a question, but the Goron would just shake his head.

"It's not for me to tell you, Brother," he would say. "I have orders."

They took the elevator up to Darbus' court. It was empty.

Link scowled. "Where are they?" he demanded.

"In the mines- I'll lead the way."

"I know it as well as you do," said Link, and crossed to the unguarded entrance.

He made it through the first sweltering corridor without much trouble and let his companion maneuver the heavy door out of the way. What he saw through the opening stopped him in his tracks.

On the mining platform far below dozens of Gorons stood in phalanx before Darbus. All Link could see of them was their great tattooed arms and the rocky formations on their backs. Dozens of them, standing in their ranks like chessmen or dominoes. Not moving. Just standing there. Waiting.

Darbus made a gesture and they all stepped forward. Dozens of feet swung into position, dozens of legs braced, and dozens of arms shot out with dozens of hands at the end of them braced in that unforgettable Goron punch that could take the head off a marble statue.

"_Ho!_" came the shout from dozens of throats, and Link cried out involuntarily at the sound of it as it bounced and echoed off the broad stone walls of the mine city of the Gorons. His escort looked questioningly at him.

"Brother?" he asked.

Link had recovered. "Nothing," he snapped. "Find Gor Coron and tell him Link wants to see him, all right? Tell him it's important."

The Goron hurried off without question, as Link had known he would.

Soldiers, after all, were there to take orders.

"How many?" he said under his breath.

"Around a hundred," said Midna, "give or take. How many Gorons _are_ there, anyway? We've only met a few.

"Can't be many more than that," said Link distantly. "Let's talk about something else."

"All right," said the imp. "What shall we talk about?"

"Maybe we could tell him. It's not too late, is it? Maybe we could do it after all. You'd be a Queen and I'd be a King and we'd be able to deal with her on her own terms. We could get married." Midna was shaking her head.

"No," she said gently, "you were right about that. It wouldn't work out." But in her heart of hearts she wondered.

"I'll _make_ it work," said Link, a little frantic in his determination. "Nothing gets in my way, you know that."

"I know."

Gor Coron came stomping up the ramp towards them and Link gathered his composure and walked out to meet him. There was no twinkle in the elder's eye today; Gor Coron looked as serious as a heart attack.

"Is this important, Brother?" he asked politely. "You can see that we are having a busy time right now."

"The very thing I wanted to talk to you about, elder," said Link. "I was at the coronation, you understand."

"Ah," said Gor Coron wearily. "So like everyone else who was at the coronation you want to know why the Goron ambassadors stormed out- one of them, might I say, leaving behind in the fracas a suit which costs more than a house in Kakariko- and what exactly Zelda said to them to make them carry on in such an outrageous fashion, and you want _me_ to explain it to you. Does that sound about right, Brother?"

Link opened his mouth to speak and Gor Coron kept right on talking over him. "We have had that ridiculous postman up here twice already. Every person in Hyrule who is important enough to have been there that night or who thinks they are important enough wants to know what happened, and what none of these very important people seem to realize is that _it is not any of their business._"

"Would that by Darbus down there, by any chance?" asked Link without missing a beat. "Darbus, the patriarch of the Gorons? Big fellow, fists like hams and teeth like dice, fell under a dark magic curse a few months back? And you couldn't fix him so you chained him up in the darkness and left him there while the mountain started going off every fifteen minutes and the bulbins started breeding in your sacred mines? Oh, my, I believe it is. Seems to have gotten out, doesn't he?"

Gor Coron took an involuntary step back and Link took two steps forward. "And how often is Death Mountain erupting these days, reverend Gor, and where are the bulbins who you used to see around these parts?" he asked. "I want you to explain this to me: how _don't_ you owe me?"

The Goron held up a pleading hand. "We have not gotten off to a good start," he said. "I am sorry, for my part. It has been a trying day. I understand that you were attacked by one of the guards on your way up- I am sorry for that too. Can we not start again, Brother?"

Link hesitated, nodded. "I'd like that."

"Right," said the Gor, and perhaps the twinkle was in there somewhere after all. "You were standing there and you said-"

"I was at the coronation," said Link. "What's going _on_, Gor Coron? Zelda doesn't have anything to do with the Gorons, does she?"

His words were inquisitive but his town was pleading. Gor Coron sighed.

"You fought in the Bulbin War, did you not?" he asked.

Link paused. "I did. What does that have to do with- oh, _no_. No. Don't tell me. She asked you?"

"And we said nothing," said Gor Coron. "It was not our fight, nor are we fighters by temperament. It was not considered to be an honorable engagement."

"That can't be all," said Midna. "Zelda planned that war- she must have known she could win it without the Gorons. Why would she want to share the credit?"

"But that's not all, is it," said Link. "What else, Gor? What am I missing?"

"When the war was over," Gor Coron said calmly, "the Princess sent her envoi to Death Mountain, accompanied by a young man in uniform who I was given to understand was a general in her army. They were sent to deliver a message, see."

"What message?" said Link, who had known what the message was since Coron had mentioned Barbarossa.

"That Darbus was to appear at the coronation, two weeks hence, to swear his fealty to the Crown," said Gor Coron. "The patriarch was not amused."

"I can imagine," said Link.

"No," said Gor Coron. "You really cannot."

"And Darbus wasn't there," said Link, making the connection. "Darbus stayed in Death Mountain and sent his ambassadors to tell Zelda what he thought of her. And Zelda said…"

"Don't you know?" said Gor Coron. ("_Ho!_" called the Goron warriors, far below, and Darbus nodded grimly in approval.)

Link swallowed. "So-"

"It is coming," said Gor Coron. "That much was made clear to us. Not immediately, but certainly before the year is out. Zelda is prepared to unify Hyrule under her banner, beginning with Kakariko and Death Mountain. Only we are reluctant to be unified, see? So it is not going to be pretty. It never is. But this time it will be worse."

"How long?"

"Who can say?" said the Gor, who had been a pillar of his tribe for sixty and odd years and seen the Kings of Hyrule come and go with a comforting constancy. His bulk was silhouetted against the grotty half-light of the lava. "But we will not strike the first blow."

"I… see," said Link. "Thank you, Gor Coron."

"Is there anything else, Link?" asked the elder mildly. "Because there is much to be done."

"In preparation," said Link sickly.

"Yes," said Gor Coron. "Is there?"

"No," said Link.

"Then I will leave you," said the Goron, and he turned his ponderous bulk to where the Gorons were drilling for war. The sound of their bare feet slapping against the metal floated up to Link on the unclean air as Gor Coron made his way back to his people.

"What happens now?" said Link, and received no reply. He never had, not for that question; he hadn't needed to ask it when he was setting off and now there was nobody in all the world who knew the answer. Once again, Link was alone.

He straightened his shoulders. "I'll go to Ralis," he decided, "he'll like me more now that he's seen Zelda. I'll go to Ralis and ask him what she's planning."

"Link?" asked Midna from his shadow.

"Yes?" said Link.

"What _does_ happen now?"

Link hesitated.

_Zelda is prepared to unify Hyrule._

In his minds eye he could see the army of Hylia, riding out from Castle Town to do battle. They were wearing the livery of the Royal Family, white and gold, and bearing their fewtered spears behind their saddles, and brandishing their swords and hammering on their shields and blowing on their horns and they _could not possibly win_, because Kakariko Gorge was a bottleneck and the Gorons were invincible and in any case the army was as toothless as an old dog.

Or was it?

_What are you planning, princess?_

"I don't know," said Link, honestly. "But whatever it is, I mean to stop it."

"_Ho!_" cried the Gorons far below them, and together they took the burning road back to the surface.

* * *


	5. But Not Gone

_Here's Chapter Four! Nothing to say about it other than that I'm glad it's done with.  
I'm always grateful for feedback. Thanks to everyone who commented on 'Brothers'.  
Without further ado-_

* * *

Chapter Four  
But Not Gone 

The Siege of Twilight sat brooding on its elevated dais like an obsolete god. Midna had perched between its stony arms, once, and Zant the usurper king had sprawled against the high unyielding back of it near to the end of his realm.

Now, the Siege sat empty and alone. In the brave new world after the fall of Zant Twilight was ruled by the people, and if some of them were considered more equal than others then it would be considered tactless to point it out.

That was why the chair brooded. To brood is in the nature of things that have no further purpose.

The Council at Twilight sat on gilded stools on the polished expanse of floor that stretched out before the Siege practically to the crack of doom, rank on rank and row on row in a series of concentric semi-circles that led, inevitably, to Dusm. Before them was Midna, the government in exile in its entirety, riding the air as casually as she had ridden the throne.

Her legs were crossed on their insubstantial cushion. She supported the weight of her body with a hand cocked at the side of her face and an elbow propping her up against the ground that was in fact three and a half feet below. Midna, who was about as comfortable in the Council's presence as the fish is when it sees the outline of the trawler silhouetted against the rippling sky, gave the general impression of being on the verge of yawning prettily and going to sleep.

Dusm wasn't saying anything, so neither was Midna. It may have been unbelievably petty, but so it went. He had more to lose. Politically speaking there was nowhere for her to go but up.

"We were given to understand you had a question?" said Dusm, exactly as if he hadn't just lost the contest. His voice was a masterpiece, a creamy mix of equal parts boredom and arrogance. Because Midna was Midna, and because she hated the necessity of coming before the Council with her hat in her hand, she went with the second question instead.

"Yes indeed," she said, righting herself in the air with an effortless flip, "Who exactly are you supposed to be? It's been bothering me for _weeks_ now." Dusm was staring at her with controlled patience. Midna decided to hell with it and kept talking.

"I know _most_ of you," she said playfully, "for example is that you, Guls? You've certainly come up in the world, haven't you? Why, I remember when you were nothing more than a pathetic little Court functionary! Not that much has changed."

She put one sleek little hand up to her eye and swept the room with a wide-eyed stare of exaggerated curiosity, naming the courtiers as she saw them, the hangers-on and royal retainers who in another time would have been knocking one another over to kiss the Imperial ass. "Macgrew," she recited, "Vlesk of Carnow, Udenk, Xillene… there's Proul, of _course_, a regular weathervane, our Proul, and if I'm not mistaken that's Yelz- Yalz? Yilz?- funny how the little things slip your mind, isn't it? And is that- why, is that Chamberlain Bunt? My, my, the gang's all here!"

There was an embarrased silence from the Council. Dusm folded his hands together under his chin and waited. If he had had papers, thought the imp, he would be shuffling them about now. If he even knew what papers were.

Ah, well. "But who's this?" said Midna, gesturing lazily at the Voice of the Council. "I've never seen this man before in my life! What's the matter, Yelz-Yalz-Yilz, wasn't quite ambitious enough? Spent too long testing the wind, Proul, is that why they make you sit in the back?"

"At least," came the reply from somewhere in the back, "at least we still _have_ a place to sit. The princess of nothing is pleased to sit in judgement of us, but lest we forget when Zant ascended to the throne she was nowhere to-"

"I _know_ that's you, Xillene," sang Midna. "Funnily enough I don't recall _you_ standing in his way. You can talk all you want about how much you love Twilight, but I don't recall _you_ being willing to stand up and bear the curse for our home-"

"We are all equals here," said Dusm.

"Are we all equals here, Xillene?" asked Midna curiously. Xillene opened her mouth, glanced at Dusm, and closed it again abruptly. Midna nodded in satisfaction.

The Voice of the Council did not appear to notice. "I was a farmer in the Hallows," Dusm said simply. "But I was in the capitol when Zant came, and I was still there when he was… defeated. Afterwards, of course, the chain of command had become somewhat confused. It was neccesary that matters be clarified."

"I can't imagine," said Midna with a hint of amusement, "how much it must _sting_ for my royal court to be taking marching orders from a farmer."

Dusm glanced at the throne for a moment. "We are given to understand," he said idly, "that your companion began life as a goatherd in Ordon. Tell us, what is a goat?"

There was no mockery in Dusm's stentorian voice. Midna just stared at him for a moment.

When she spoke again there was an edge in her voice which had not been there before. "A four-legged animal with fur," she said, "and horns. They raise them for meat and milk."

"I see," said Dusm. "And now that you have answered _our_ question we would take it as a kindness if you would ask us yours. The governance of Twilight requires a great deal of time-"

"_Do you think I don't know that_?"

Dusm's voice did not tremble. "Yes."

_Nobody had thought to bar Zant's way when he came to see the Princess. We do not fear the things we see every day._

_She had turned on him when she saw what he had turned the guards into but by then it was already too late. There was time enough to wonder what he was wearing on his head and then she saw his hands, saw the muscles jerking under his translucent skin, and she was running, running, running down the stairs and through the audience hall (twisted horrors turned to follow her flight with eyes devoid of recognition) and out beneath the roiling sky of Twilight. _

_Of course, he caught up to her in the end._

_The sound of hobnailed boots, clattering down the marble floor of the ballroom-_

"You have no idea what I went through for my home- for my people," said Midna, and damned herself for the tremble in her voice. "You have no idea what price I paid."

"Perhaps," said Dusm. "But this is the Council at Twilight, Midna. There is much to be done. For the third time we request of you that you state your business before this assembly."

"Link's been having dreams," said Midna, "dark dreams. He's been dreaming a world where I broke the mirror. After Ganondorf."

"It seems to me," said the Voice of the Council, "that an impossible future can have no immediate bearing on the situation. Given that your line is extinct it seems unlikely that the power to destroy the artifact will resurface in Twilight."

"It seems to _me_," said Midna tetchily, "that this rather undermines the validity of your government."

* * *

High above the waterfall, repatriated Hylian engineers clambered like apes over the sturdy wooden lattice that spanned the sacred pool of Zora's Domain, testing and testing and testing. The waters of that placid estuary were the tears the Goddesses had shed over the mortality of their children. It was neccesary to minimize the contamination. 

Link and Ralis, by the grace of the Goddesses King of Hyrule, took their ease before the coral throne.

"This should interest you," said Ralis, politely breaking the silence. "You're a fisherman, after all."

"Only by temperament," corrected the hero. "By trade, I'm a rancher. Not that I've had much occasion to herd of late. Anyways you were better at it than I was."

"I'm certainly no fisherman," said Ralis, a shade bitterly. "I'm the King. The two don't exactly go hand in hand."

"Maybe not," said Link, but he wasn't talking about Ralis.

The two fishermen stood side by side and considered the trellis- its broad feet, anchored in rocks worn smooth by thousands of Zora feet.

"What are you going to do with the Goron?" inquired Link after a brief interval.

"Send him on his way," said Ralis. "Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, please," said Link. "I've talked to Gor Coron."

"We haven't met," said Ralis. "I understand he's a fine leader-"

"You know," said Link, cutting him off at the knees, "I wasn't expecting you to see me."

"Why would I turn you away?" asked Ralis honestly. "You saved my life. I owe you this much, your conduct since regardless."

There was a pause. "And maybe," he admitted "I felt a little guilty."

"Guilty over what?"

"You're merciless-"

"Damn it, Ralis," cried Link, "why am I the only one who's taking this seriously!"

"Taking _what_ seriously?"

"I would have preferred we settle this like men."

"What, you mean like a duel?"

"I mean _honestly_, Ralis," snapped Link. The King considered correcting Link on the vagaries of courtly etiquette and address but ultimately decided against it. It wouldn't do him any good.

"Zelda is strengthening the Army," the Ordonian went on. "Anyone can see it happening and I didn't even need to squint- Barbarossa damn near wrote it down for me. The Gorons are frightened. They know what's coming even if Zelda's people don't. And all of the sudden she's acting like the whole world is Hyrule and they've just forgotten it. Like she's on a mission to remind everyone where they stand. What the hell is she doing, Ralis?"

"Should the King betray the Queen's secrets?" asked Ralis. "What do you expect me to do for you, Link?"

"I expect you to remember what Zelda is capable of," said Link. "I expect you to think about whose side you're really on."

* * *

"Ah," said Dusm. "Then this is not, in point of fact, about Link. The topic under discussion is you- is this not the case?"

"What are you playing at, Dusm?" said Midna coldly.

Dusm sat up on his stool and pointed one blunt finger at her. "You come before the Council and waste our time driveling about out membership, then you feed us a clearly irrelevant anecdote which would be of interest if and _only if_ the events that transpired could ever have taken place in the world as we know it- an anecdote, in fact, which would only be of interest if _you were restored to your true form._ Take care, Midna, when you trifle with the affairs of Twilight. We are not blind who sit here in judgement."

"Oh, please-" scoffed Midna.

"Didn't you hear, princess?" Xillene's voice floated from the dimness. "We can't turn you back. This posturing is, if I may make so bold as to say, rather pathetic-"

"Grow _up_," snapped the imp. "I didn't come here to beg the council to lift the curse on me. Even if it weren't beneath my dignity the curse doesn't matter anymore, all right? I've found a better offer. This is about Link and _only_ about Link, and you're going to give me all the help you can give."

"Why is that?" asked Dusm- not upset, not angry, but dully curious.

"Because they're tearing him apart," said Midna. "He doesn't show it but I know him better than anyone in the world. In his dreams he's been doing terrible things and if I know Link he's already started to ask himself if he's capable of doing them in this world as well. And he's not going to get the answer he's looking for. Even if it's the right one. Because nobody judges Link as mercilessly as Link."

"I don't see-"

"You're going to help me," said Midna, "because he knows where the mirror is. And if the dreams keep up, sooner or later he's going to come through it."

* * *

"Throwing my own words back at me, are you?" asked Ralis. "It won't work, you know. I've grown since then."

"You're not anywhere near as big as you think you are," said Link darkly, "King of Hyrule or no."

The broad iron drum of the winch fell with a shivering crash into its wooden cradle. Taut lines stretched up out of the murk at the bottom of the sacred pool. Grimacing at the effort to come, the foreman spat in his palms, rubbed them briskly together, and took the crank in both hands. The muscles in his arms stood out like cannonballs as he hauled.

The whole of the trellis curved creakingly downward as it took the weight of the netted Goron, but the broad beams and sturdy joists held firm.

"Hylian engineering," said Ralis in appreciation.

"Look," said Link, trying another tack, "you _know_ how dangerous she is. How many of yours are dead in that field? And what was it for? I don't think you know anymore than I do what she was trying to do. How many of yours are going to die before she's done with you?"

"Link," said Ralis sharply, "I'm not going to tell you what she's planning, all right? You can give up now if that's what you're looking for me to do. All that I'm going to tell you is that _it's for the best_. You know what she did yesterday?"

"What, Ralis?" asked Link.

"She re-established the Royal Post. Put that mailman who used to hang about behind the throne at the top- calls him the Postmaster General. Now, instead of one overworked and rather unsettling middle-aged man running about at all hours delivering the mail, there's going to be dozens of them."

"Has she?" said Link. "It won't be the same without him, I can tell you that."

"And that's _exactly_ how you think," said Ralis. "You're so sentimental that it makes my head hurt. You just want things to stay the way they are- the way they were."

As soon as he said this Ralis realized that it was true, but he ploughed on- Kings have no time for epiphanies.

"Any reasonable person," he insisted, "would see that this is good for Hyrule. For one thing it's making useful work for people who didn't have it and for another there's going to be a better than average chance that if you send a letter it's actually going to get where it's going to. Modernization is what Hyrule _needs._"

"Modernization?" asked Link. "Is that what she calls it, modernization? War with the Gorons is modernization?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Ralis fiercely.

"Of course you don't," answered Link. "If you did you'd be accountable, wouldn't you? Modernization. Well, there's a thing. And you know, I practically _suggested_ it- do you know that just now occurred to me? She's doing exactly what I said she should've done. _Modernization,_" he said, scornfully, "like every good idea she's ever had. She's taking it too far."

"Link-" said Ralis.

"I had a dream last night."

* * *

_Dark clouds boiled in the wake of their passage, mirroring the bruise-shaded skies of Twilight._

_Any creative doctor could have told you what this was, of course. It was an allergic reaction. Sometimes, when a foreign object enters the body, the body responds badly. What the sky was doing was simply that on a massive scale- an allergic response to a foreign object that had pierced the very skin of the world._

_And there was little more foreign than the armies of Twilight._

_(He watched them from a distance, because their eyes could see farther than most; even in a fever dream the sacred wolf was wary of discovery. These were the descendants of the arcanists who had thought to pull down the very pillars of the world and claim the sacred power of the Triforce for their own. These were the children of the faithless. They marched unsteadily across a field that nobody in their line had set foot on in a hundred generations. Their spears jabbed impotently at the fuming sky._

_A woman led them, tall and imperious, cloaked against the vanity of the sun. He didn't know her._

_Then a moment passed and he saw the pattern across the skin of her chest, saw the arabesque traceries of light that encircled her forearms, saw that her eyes were like nothing in the world._

_He knew her then: this was Midna, _his_ Midna, Midna as she was and had been and could be again: the Queen of Twilight. The wolf felt a hot stab of lust in his belly, quickly supressed and forgotten. This was Midna._

_He was afraid-)_

_The stone that hung from a leather cord about Midna's neck thrummed against her skin and she plucked it off and held it to the light. "Report," she snapped._

_"Your majesty," came the voice of Dusm, "first and third columns have encountered heavy resistance on their approaches. Hylian light infantry has stopped first column entirely. Third column is still en route to the target but has taken heavy losses from Hylian calvary raids."_

_"This is impossible," said Midna. "I've seen Zelda's army- it's a joke. They should present no obstacle to _us._"_

_"Nevertheless," said the disembodied voice, "the defence has been unexpectedly vigorous. Based on Hylian strategy your advisors are predicting a guerilla defence of the Castle itself which may delay us by up to eight hours-"_

_"Are we _losing?_"_

_"Certainly not, your majesty," said Dusm. "Hylian calvary has taken losses of six in ten from Twilit Kargorok raids and first column is inflicting heavy casualties on Hylian infantry. Victory is inevitable. Nevertheless, we are slowing down."_

_"What possible reason could Zelda have for fielding such an obviously unprepared-"_

_"Your majesty," said the voice urgently, "scriers report activity dead ahead of you."_

_"How many?" said Midna, immediately on guard. "I'll rally my troops. Call in the Kargoroks-"_

_"That- will not be neccesary," said Dusm, bewildered. "It appears that there is only one man."_

_"One man?" asked Midna. "But why-"_

_"Perhaps Zelda is suing for peace?"_

_But Midna was no longer listening._

_Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where one man stood alone and unaccompanied before the unopposed ravages of Twilight, dressed in ermine robes and bearing in his left hand a sword that dripped with molten gold. She couldn't make out his face, but why would she need to? It had haunted her dreams so long that she could recite its features from memory._

_"Oh, Gods," whispered Midna. "Oh, _Gods-_"_

_(And Midna was torn away as the world turned too fast under the feet of the sacred wolf, bringing the horizon swinging up over him like a tidal wave as the scenery passed in an emerald blur. He was standing at the side of the other._

_"You're losing, you know," said Link, "even if you haven't realized it yet. Already I'm far more real than you are. Why not give in? Ah, but you can't, of course. Heaven forfend the hero should surrender."_

_The wolf's lips writhed back from his pin-sharp teeth and the growl rose from the center of his chest. Link laughed at him._

_"You poor fool," he said, "don't you know who I am? Haven't figured it out yet, have you? Midna's still doing your thinking for you, is she? I had to solve _that puzzle_ myself, brother, and it took me far less time than it's taking you. I'll give you a hint, then, since you are such a very sorry-looking beast: you stand tonight in the presence of the King."_

_He raised his sword. "They call me Link the Mad."_

_And, turning to the advancing armies of Twilight, he said:  
_

* * *

"Bow your heads," recited Midna, "bow your heads, and turn your backs on the world of Light. Go back to your shadows and grieve for what you shall lose this day, for I tell you that before the line of Kings you cannot stand." 

Silence dominated the vaulted chamber, as perfect as a held breath.

"That's what he said," said Midna. "And that's the dream. He thinks he's dreaming the world that could have been- the man that he could have been. I don't know how long he's going to be able to deal with this before something gives."

Silence. Midna drew a breath through the portcullis of her clenched teeth.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I really don't know what you expect us to tell you," said Dusm. "It's another impossible scenario, clearly. War with the world of Light is unfeasible.

Midna blinked. "Say that again."

"War with the world of Light is unfeasible-"

"As long as the Mirror is intact," said Midna. "War with the world of light is unfeasible as long as the Mirror is intact. Because as long as the Mirror is intact Link could come through at any time, couldn't he? And then the war would be over. Wouldn't it?"

Dusm said nothing.

"Goddesses," said Midna, full of wonder. "He's right, isn't he? This is how it would have happened if-"

"If you had broken the mirror," said Dusm, drawing into himself. "But you didn't."

"I would have," said the imp, slowly. "I really would have. But I wouldn't have started a war."

"Do you think so?" asked Dusm. "I think that you are wrong. I think that you would have started a war for the simple reason that it would have been the only responsible thing to do."

Midna grinned. "I thought I wasn't responsible enough for your tastes."

"Responsibility," said Dusm, "can be taught." The grin faded.

"I could have done more," said Midna. "It took me a long time to admit that to myself but you were right there, at least. Maybe I could have done more. At the very least I could have seen the signs."

She glanced over the Council at Twilight. "Guls," she said. "Macgrew, Vlesk, Udenk, Proul, Xillene and Bunt, Yelz-Yalz-Yilz. All my old friends. Well, you changed sides fast enough, but I forgive you that. I know you hate me. I know you think I didn't do enough. And maybe I didn't."

"We are pleased," said Xillene, "that-"

"But neither," said Midna, "did you."

Silence reigned and Midna grinned her toothy grin into the darkness.

"Good luck," she said. "You'll need it if you plan to live out the year. And keep a close eye on the people, Xillene. Watch them closely, Macgrew. They'll turn on you as soon as you slip up and if you're very, very lucky maybe you'll deserve it."

She swept out of the throne room. "They're yours, now, Dusm," she called merrily over her shoulder. Dusm nodded gently and the doors creaked shut behind her.

The Siege of Twilight brooded in the quiet room, but perhaps there was a glint of triumph in the cold marble heart of it.

It knew that it would be there forever.

* * *

"What is that supposed to mean to me?" asked Ralis crossly. 

"Nothing," said Link. "It was only a dream."

The Goron was visible as a vague blur in the tranquil waters, swaddled in netting. His eyes were wide and wondering as the light of day came up to greet him. Idly Link wondered what it must be like to be a Goron.

"Are you all right?" asked Ralis.

"Never better," said Link. "I'm going to stop her, you know."

"You're _not_," said Ralis. "You're really not. Times are changing, Link."

"That's what Barbarossa said," said Link. "'Times are changing', he told me. He was right, too. Times are _always_ changing."

The trellis creaked like whalebone under the burden of the Goron. Link saw the foreman's eyes widen, saw the muscles of his great arms bulge as he fought with the crank. "But there are things that don't," he said, and that was when the frame fell in.

It did not fall gently. There was no grace to it. One beam gave way, cracked in half and swung wildly out of position, and then the whole of it fell apart into the water with a hellish cacophany of snapping boughs and shrieking metal and simple human distress. Ralis swore as the great iron bulk of the winch fell spinning into the sacred pool, trailing line, and exploded the tears of the Goddesses out in an ankle-high wave that filled Link's leather boots to the brim before it receded.

And the Goron plunged down again towards the rocky bottom of the sacred pool, dropped out of sight into the murk of the water. He was going back to where he had started. Link envied him.

"I'll go," he said. "Back to Ordon, in case you were wondering. Anyways I can see you have a great deal to do."

"Don't stand in her way, Link," Ralis said, almost begged. "She'll run you down. Look, you have to understand, you can't beat her. She has all of Hyrule on her side."

"Not yet," said Link.

"She'll kill you," said Ralis, and Link stopped in his tracks.

"We should have stayed fishermen, Ralis," he said.

"Why is that?" asked the King of Hyrule.

"Because if we had stayed fishermen," said Link, "then we wouldn't have had to be enemies."

"Are we enemies, Link?" said Ralis. Link smiled his gentle smile.

"Didn't you know, Ralis?" he said. "I chose _my_ side a long time ago." And left, into the dusk that had fallen like fresh linen over the looping ribbon of Zora's river.

Zelda knew he had gone within the hour.

* * *


	6. Anno Hegirae

_This took longer to write than I had hoped it would, but I knew that was going to happen- I went into it without a clear idea of what was going to happen, and more importantly _why_._

The next chapter should come sooner. Let me tell you, I know exactly_ what happens in that one._

Comments are as fine as paint, which is to say: I like them.

* * *

Chapter Five  
Anno Hegirae 

There was little point in locking the door. This, after all, was Hyrule Castle, the holiest of holies, and in these troubled times the soldiers of the crown were thick on the manicured grounds.

Just outside there was a guard in full mail whose job it was to stand there with a naked sword in his hand on a six hour shift, and nobody was going to get past him without nailing him to the wall first. Down the stairs a heavy iron portcullis was drawn down from an archway with two guards standing at attention in front of it, and so on and so forth.

There was no point in the door even _having_ a lock, because anything that could get that far wouldn't be bothered by it. They'd just take a deep breath and blow the damned thing down.

Nevertheless, the door was locked. Some things are done in private.

The palace cartographers had flattened Hyrule like an incautious roach and spread the guts of it, the high roads and townships and glades, over twenty square feet of parchment as creamy as marzipan.

But it was sandpaper compared to the alabaster hand that paused, considering, in the air above it. If the parchment was Hyrule, if the table under it was the iron bones of the world, then surely that hand was a discriminating sort of heaven, a paradise available only to the shriven.

The hand moved south, hesitated over Ordonna Province. The shadow it cast was fifteen miles wide.

Then the hand came down.

* * *

The sun was rising when Link set foot on good Ordonian soil, lending Zelda's benighted kingdom a provisional grace- as if the trials and heartbreaks of the waning year had taken place in a single night, as if this dawn was the first dawn and things were going to be different now.

Link was wise enough not to put his trust in the sunrise, but he was old enough to take pleasure in the warmth it gave. It had been a chilly night.

(He had come down out of the mountains as the warlord had done on his solitary march, and made his way through the grasslands by the light of the moon. The frost-rimed stalks crunched like gravel under his boots as he walked.

It was too cold to bed down under the stars, so he walked. In the enormous loneliness of the moonlit fields, in the fugue of his exhaustion- for he would not dare the dreams, not here, not alone- every action took on a surreal quality. From time to time he would catch himself wondering whose boots were these, whose hands, whose eyes, watering in the monumental cold.

He wasn't being followed, of _course_ he wasn't being followed. Stealth was impossible in all that emptiness, and who would have followed him here? All the same, he quickened his pace, told himself a brisk walk would keep him warm. But wouldn't turn around for what he might see behind him, older and darker in an ermine robe-)

His hands were wrapped around the rungs of his ladder. One foot rested on the lowest rung, one on the ground. He could not recall having crossed the intervening space between the edge of his clearing and the ladder.

Was he going mad? No, that was ridiculous. He was tired, that was all. Two days and a night without sleep played funny tricks on the mind. He _knew_ that. It was just that the damned dreams kept coming and-

And he had called himself Link the Mad.

They were just dreams. As he climbed the ladder he reminded himself of this, added it to the list of things he could believe in because they were self-evident, things that reaffirmed that he was still who he was. Dreams were just dreams. Honesty was the best policy. Barbarossa was a friend. Zelda was dangerous.

He pushed open the door (Ralis was wet behind the ears- well, wetter) and stepped into the room.

Thirty pounds of weight hit him squarely in the neck and his legs buckled under the onslaught, sending him thundering to his knees. Something pressed hot against his throat and something tangled in his hair, yanked at it to a fresh wave of pain, knocked his hat to the ground. _Ambushed_, thought Link, knowing that he couldn't get at his sword, reaching back anyways.

Then a furry cheek caressed his own and he knew who had him.

"I _missed_ you," whispered Midna fiercely, and bared her mismatched teeth in savage affection.

Midna loved him.

"I missed you too," said Link, gingerly trying to work the imp's surprisingly strong legs out from around his neck. She held on stubbornly- well, that was Midna. "How was Twilight?"

"Disappointing in all sorts of ways," said Midna, bringing her thighs together in such a way as to indicate that escape simply wasn't in the cards. "Anyways they didn't have anything helpful to say, so I came back."

"Oh?" said Link, giving up on the legs and folding his hands over Midna's, which were fisted in his hair.

"You could get away if you wanted to," accused the imp. "If you're worried about hurting me you haven't been paying attention. Don't make me-" she stifled a yawn "-don't make me beat you up."

"Was that a yawn?"

"No!"

"That was a _yawn_. What's the last time you slept?"

"_You're_ one to talk, I bet you haven't closed your eyes for more than a minute since-"

"Midna!"

"Kakariko."

"All right, _you're_ going to bed," groused Link, wrapping his hands awkwardly around her ribcage and pulling. The imp hung on, as tenacious as a limpet. "For my own safety- if you stay up much longer you're liable to get cranky, and I like all my arms and legs where they are."

"You, too, then," insisted Midna. "Otherwise you'll be out like a light when _I'm_ awake and if I don't have anything to entertain myself with I'll have to do terrible things to you in your sleep."

"Fine," said Link, who had been planning to go to bed in any case. "Only get off, will you? I can't feel my face."

Midna responded by rotating her entire body around the axis of Link's neck, pulling his head savagely back by the hair, and planting a deep and passionate kiss on his unsuspecting lips. When she broke it his eyes were slightly unfocused.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah?" she asked, smirking.

"Yeah," said Link, "How can your spine even _bend_ that way?"

The imp rolled her eyes and flipped effortlessly off his shoulders and into the air. A moment later and she was an indistinct lump under the blankets.

Link had his tunic half off when the knock came at the door. Grumbling, he pulled it back over his head and answered it.

It was Bo. The heavyset Ordonian took one look at the disheveled hero and came to exactly the wrong conclusion.

"Good," he said gruffly, "you're up. The apple harvest needs doin' and I need every hand I can get out in the orchard- it was a hard frost last night. Best it were done before nightfall." Link rubbed the back of his head, squinted blearily at Bo's jowly face.

"You short-handed?" he asked.

"Rusl's gone off on some damn fool quest," said the mayor, giving the sort of emphasis to the last word that suggested he put it right up there with venereal disease and stepping on a rake in the wheat fields, "and Sera is cleaning- she said I could have Hanch and I didn't have the heart to tell her to keep him. Jaggle's fixin' that wheel of his. I have Hanch and Uli, maybe Pergie, and the kids, and you know they won't be pickin' many apples."

"No, probably not," said Link, slightly guiltily. "Listen, Bo, I can barely keep my eyes open. Can I catch up with you-"

"Uli's got the press out," mentioned the mayor, fitting his thumbs into his pocket. "It'll be cider tonight."

"Damn it, Bo, you're killing me."

"Not yet," said the mayor darkly, and Link laughed.

"All right, all right," he said, "I'll come and pick a bushelful with you. But this better be damn good cider, hear?"

"Uli's making it," repeated Bo.

"That's damn good cider," said Link, reverently. "Give me five minutes, will you? Apple picking is one of those things you don't do in tights."

"See you at the orchard," said Bo, raising a hand in salute, and Link closed the door.

"I'll come back as soon as I can," he said, turning around. "Sorry about this, but you know I haven't been pulling my weight around here lately, and-"

He stopped, chuckled to himself. Link was conscious of happiness as a pressure behind the sinuses, a sudden raw dampness at the eyes.

Under the blankets, Midna had quietly begun to snore.

* * *

The fall harvest was time consuming, but for the most part it was undemanding work. Link balanced expertly on the rough ladder with a basket slung on a strap around his neck and plucked a perfect apple from a bough. After a cursory inspection it either went into the basket or, if it was bruised, down to the ground to be collected into barrels for the press by the young of the village. 

This one was bruised. "'hoy, Talo," he called down, "catch."

The brunette cupped his hands obligingly. A moment later the apple bounced off of his head.

"Ow!"

"Ha!" said Link, satisfied, and turned to where Bo was putting serious strain on his own ladder.

"Anyways," he said, finishing off the story, "I never did find out where the Gorons went. Probably to Death Mountain, I suppose, but once the suits were off I knew I was never going to be able to pick them out of a crowd. That's the last piece of the puzzle, but even without it I think I can see the shape it's supposed to be."

"Not a nice shape," grunted Bo, whose basket was nearly full. "Still, we're well out of it here. You're wrong about one thing, though- the Princess isn't concealin' her intentions so well."

"Oh?" asked Link, interested. "What's she done and why haven't I heard about it?" Bo swung his basket over his shoulder and climbed down the ladder.

"They're sayin' that Kakariko ain't payin' the crown tax," Bo called up. "Just a rumor, but if the Princess is behind all this maybe she's been whispering in people's ears. They're sayin' if Kakariko doesn't pay up Zelda's goin' to increase the tax in Castle Town commensurately."

"Never going to happen," dismissed Link. "Zelda's playing them."

"Might be," allowed Bo. "But the other thing they're sayin' is that the Gorons didn't show when the war came. Now, I like the Gorons, but that ain't right. Lot of boys died in that war."

A flicker of curiousity crossed the mayor's ordinarily impassive face. "Now that I get to talkin' about it," he said, slowly, "You never did talk much about that war."

"And don't mean to," said Link. Bo shrugged and started sorting his apples.

Link kept talking. "But that's the Gorons, you know? Zelda's going to go through Kakariko like a tornado if it comes to war. You can't tell me that's right. They took care of the kids, didn't they? Talo and Malo and Beth and Colin and Ilia- where is she, by the way?"

"Up at the ranch with Fado and the new mare," said Bo, "he's givin' her a few tips, although rightfully that should be _your_ job." Link accepted the censure silently- everyone had expected that Link and Ilia would be betrothed, and there had been quite a scene when Link had finally confessed to Bo that he had no real interest in marriage.

Link didn't want to open old wounds. The day of the fight he had come within a hairsbreadth of telling Bo about Midna.

"I don't disagree with you," the mayor was saying. "Renado is a good man, and what happened to Kakariko- terrible thing. All the same, there's the taxes to take into account-"

"I'm not surprised they aren't paying," said Link evenly, "considering that most of them are living in tents."

"There has to be order," said Bo. "That's what the prefect says, anyways. I may be mayor but I'm not much of a politician, that's all I'm sayin'. Leave that stuff to them that know it."

There was a small and perfect silence. It was the sort of quiet produced by someone studiously not falling off of a ladder.

"The what." said Link.

"The prefect," said Bo. "Villanova. Link, you're behind the times."

"Who the hell-" snapped Link, but the mayor cut him off.

"He came the day you left, on a wagon with his valet and a couple of guards. Said Zelda sent him. Had a piece of paper on it said he was the Royal Prefect for Ordonna Province and Zelda's seal on it, all very official. Nobody argued much. He's set up the provincial headquarters in Fleet, just a mile or so down the stream as the crow flies."

"We _aren't_ Hylian citizens," said Link, but once again Bo had a point to make.

"We _are_, now that we're talkin' of it," he said mildly. "Not saying the boys in Castle Town have done much for me lately, but fair's fair, I haven't been payin' my taxes since Zelda's da passed to his rest. Anyway, if they'll hold up their end of the bargain I'm more 'n happy to hold up mine."

"So that's it, is it?" demanded Link. "Zelda starts taking an interest again and you just hand over the reins to some- to some paper-pusher with clean boots and a permanent sniff? What happened to Ordon, Bo?"

"Hell, Link, you're a farmer," Bo shot back. "You tell me. What happens when the crops fail?"

"We go hungry," said Link.

"And what happens when there's a sickness?"

"People die," said Link nastily. "You think Zelda's touch cures the plague, do you?"

Bo didn't look particularly hurt. "You remember the blight, ten years back?"

"Of _course_ I remember. You want to tell me the _prefect_ does? Bet you ten rupees he wouldn't know what the hell you were talking about. Bet you ten rupees _he_ doesn't know what their names were or where we buried them."

"It's going to be _easier_, Link, don't you see that?" said Bo. "Of _course_ he doesn't remember the blight, he weren't there. But if there's another blight he'll remember it, and Zelda will remember it too, and maybe this time people won't have to die. They have deep granaries in Castle Town."

Link opened his mouth to speak and Bo waved him down. "You say the woman wronged you, now, I don't know anythin' about that. Me, I don't know Zelda. You do, and if you say she's a bitch then maybe she is. But this is _good for Ordon_. You think it's only going to go one way? How's it going to look if the crops fail in the provinces, now that Zelda's boys are runnin' the show?"

"Bo," said Link, "She's using you."

"Then I'm usin' her right back," said Bo, calm as a winter morning. "Hell, I've been the mayor of Ordon twelve years, ever since the old mayor passed. You want to tell me I don't have our best interests in mind? Now, you're like a son to me, Link, but where were you when the prefect moved in? Off running around tryin' to save the world. I'm not sayin' I ain't grateful. But this ain't about you. This ain't even about Zelda. This is about _Ordon._"

"I don't like what you're accusing me of, Bo," said Link, a trifle coldly. Bo just laughed.

"Hell, Link," he said, "I'm not accusing you of anythin'. Didn't I say you was like my son? You want to stop takin' it so personal."

Link sighed. "I know. I know. Look, it's been a long couple of days, and I didn't mean to snap, but… you don't know her like I do, Bo, and that's the long and short of it."

Bo chuckled. "And you don't know _him_, Link. You come to dinner tonight, all right? You ought to at least meet him before you start burnin' him in effigy."

* * *

The cider was delicious. There was that consolation. 

The only table in the village big enough to accommodate all of them was Jaggle's, which suited Link fine- it meant that Jaggle wouldn't be contributing to the potluck, and the goddesses hadn't blessed the man with much talent in the kitchen.

Quite a spread had been layed out for the visiting prefect- loaves of bread, foaming mugs of Uli's home-pressed cider, fish from the stream, pumpkin pie. It had been a good year in Ordon and the villagers believed in sharing the wealth.

Link, who had not slept in three days, sat quietly in his chair with a portion of gillfish and a slice of bread on the table in front of him. He wasn't eating. He was staring.

Villanova wasn't the inoffensive little bureaucrat he had been imagining. He had shoulders like an ox drover and a belly to rival Bo's, a square head bristling with black hair and a boil on the side of his nose. His table manners were impeccable. He made polite conversation and professed a total ineptitude for politics.

"They make my skin itch," Villanova laughed. "My valet does all the work, depend on that. For all I know he's annexed half of Hyrule Field in my absence."

Polite laughter greeted him. Link ground his teeth together.

"Are you a friend of the Queen's, prefect?" he asked, struggling to maintain a civil tone. Villanova beamed at him as though they were friends.

"I don't have that honor," he said, "although I did meet her before taking up my post. A most considerate lady."

"Yeah," said Jaggle, raising his mug and slurring his words slightly. "Yeah, long live the Queen!"

"Long live the Queen," echoed the table with mixed enthusiasm. Link said nothing, took a deep drought of his cider.

"Of course," continued the prefect, "she's as wise as she is beautiful. They're starting to call her Zelda the Wise, you know- you mustn't repeat this, it's dreadful cheek while she's still sitting on the throne- but some of the courtiers, well…"

"Mister Villanova," said Bo amiably, "you know, I can't place your accent. You ain't from around here, are you?" And he winked at Link.

"I'm a native son," said the prefect, "but far removed from Ordon, I'm ashamed to say. Left to seek my fortune when I was a lad of fifteen."

His tone was rueful, as perfectly matched to the circumstances as the fragile pane of ice that grew over the river in hard winters, and his audience chuckled in mock indignation at his words. Link felt the balance of power shifting, felt the sympathies of his neighbors as they slowly began to flow towards the sinkhole that was Villanova. Hatred stung him as sharp and unexpected as a fishhook caught in the skin.

But that was the way things always were, wasn't it? That was the way things had been for _him_. At the end of the day the scorn that the country folk felt for the soft-living hoi polloi of Castle Town was as carefully cultivated as a prize pumpkin and no less ornamental. They talked a good game about the dignity of labor, the bounties of the earth, but at the end of the day talk was all it was.

At the end of the day, they still believed, as the townies believed, that having lived and worked and squabbled in the streets of the walled city counted for something, that having been born into or adopted into the squalid tapestry of urban life somehow made you more qualified to manage their affairs.

At the end of the day, they still thought it made you-

-better.

"Do you know what I think, prefect?" asked Link. "I think you are an Ingo goat."

"I'm sorry?" said the prefect, smiling in polite misunderstanding. Link's face contorted for an instant into something like a sneer.

"Don't know what an Ingo goat is?" he said. "I don't suppose you would- there's few that seek their fortune in the slaughterhouse. They keep the meat caged up in a big pen, prefect, and when it's time for them to go to the long knives they let a goat in there with a bit of string around his neck- and the meat, all these cows and goats and sheep, they think he's one of them and they follow him out. But he isn't one of them, prefect. That's what they think because that's what they're made to think. And the Ingo goat doesn't go to the long knives."

The prefect half rose but Bo was faster. "Link," he snapped. "A word outside. I'm sorry," he said to the prefect, "he was in the war- sometimes forgets to keep a civil tongue-"

"What's Zelda planning, prefect?" Link asked cordially. Villanova gaped. Bo drew in a deep breath and opened both of his eyes.

"_Link_!" he barked. "Outside!"

"You can tell her I'm going to put a stop to it," began Link, and then Bo seized him about the arm and pulled him bodily out of Jaggle's house and into the chill air.

"What the _hell_ was that about?" he demanded. Link scowled.

"He's Zelda's man," he explained, as if it was all very proper and reasonable- and it was, of course. "Come off it, Bo, you know I'm right."

"You _ain't_," insisted the mayor. "Goddesses above, Link, what's gotten into you? This ain't like you. You ain't the man you used to be."

"_That's a lie,_" hissed Link viciously, and Bo slapped him across the face so hard that by the time the stars cleared he was sitting with his back to Jaggle's house, with the bulk of the mayor silhouetted against the wheeling stars.

There was silence.

"I've been a fool," said Link, finally. His voice was as ragged as old lace. "Forgive me."

"Forgive yourself," said Bo, impassive, inwardly relieved. "Fix what you done."

"You don't understand," said Link, wretchedly. "I don't know if I can stop her. I've been telling everyone that I mean to stop her but I don't know if I can. Everywhere I go she's two steps ahead of me. But what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Bo sighed. "Are you so sure she needs stoppin'?"

Silence. A noise in the darkness like a stifled sob.

"Look," said Bo after a while, looking up at the gibbous moon, "I trust you, all right? But you can't go on like this. Now you go and you take a walk and you think about things. Think about 'em just as hard as you can. You gotta decide where you stand."

Silence.

"You can't go on like this," Bo repeated. "It's no way to live."

Silence.

"…Link?"

But Link was gone.

* * *

_For the record, it's called the Judas goat on this side of the line that separates fact from fiction. The Zelda series not having much of a tradition of Judeo-Christian reference, I decided to edit it slightly._

Did somebody instant message me a couple of days ago and get rejected, by the way? I'm terribly sorry if that was one of you- it was an accident. I'd love to hear from you if you'd care to message me again.

...and I'm still talking.  



	7. By Moonlight

_Chapter Six is right on schedule, if you can believe that. Easiest thing I've written since the prologue- I just sat down at one and wrote 'til six.  
This is the halfway mark, folks. Four to six more chapters to go. You've been a great audience.  
Comments are always appreciated- thanks, everyone who commented on Anno Hegirae! Now, read._

* * *

Chapter Six  
By Moonlight 

Epona's hoofbeats churned the muddy grass as Link rode out from Ordon at midnight with no destination in mind. It was not _to_ that he was riding, but _away_: away from his failure at Jaggle's table, away from Bo and his endless warnings, away from Villanova and the suspicions that churned his heart to butter and set his tongue lashing like a snake's.

Thunder rolled like a sheet of tin set up against the firmament. It would rain tonight. Link rode on, driving Epona harder than she had been driven since they had harried Ganondorf through the gloaming. Back in the days where Zelda was an ally and Midna no more than a friend. Back in the days before the war.

Link barely felt his horse's formidable muscles rippling under him. His mind was on other things tonight.

What harm in the Queen's embassy to Ordonna? No harm, save that it bit and rankled to have Zelda's man so close to home.

What harm in Villanova? Impossible to say. The man seemed genuinely harmless, but Link knew about things that seemed harmless. Or was that only his paranoia, growling at the back of his mind about things that didn't really matter?

A fence loomed in his path; almost absently, Link goaded Epona into a leap. Suspended in the air, Link wondered:

What if he was wrong?

The mare's hooves came down and she was galloping again. Her hooves thudded against the packed earth and sent twigs and leaves and pebbles flying as they came down.

What if he was wrong? What if what Zelda was doing was all to the good?

She would, he knew, have been pleased to have his life in the Bulbin War. Somewhere in his heart he knew it. His body, wounded in a dozen places, entombed in a mass grave with all the other soldiers who had marched out to defend Hyrule-

And nobody to stand in her way.

But here was the hell of it: what if nobody needed to? What if it had been worth it? What if, finally, Zelda had been right?

A spark of the old missionary spirit flared up in Link. _You could have given your army proper training._

But she was, wasn't she? Barbarossa had said as much and Barbarossa knew his work. He wouldn't have stayed if she hadn't made him believe that it was going to be different.

_Things fell apart while you were gone._

They had, but the postman had kept on delivering the mail- and now the postman was the Postmaster General. So that if Zelda fell in battle there would damn well be a mail service while the civil war raged on. It was something- a small consolation, like a word of praise you hadn't been expecting.

_To be frank, princess, I was very bitter for a long time about how much of my war could have been prevented if you had been doing your job…_

Who had said that?

Damn it. It had been him, hadn't it.

_(In the house in Ordon Midna mumbled something and turned over in her sleep as thunder boomed flat across the plains._

_In her dreams, the floating islands of the Twilight sped past her with glacial slowness. She watched them idly from the balcony of the palace. Twilight was no longer of consequence._

_Presently she became aware that she was not alone. There was a tall woman, strikingly beautiful, standing beside her with her red hair bound up between her breasts and a cloak stamped with the concentric crest of the House of Mid. Even by the standards of Twilight, she was exotic. She had the regal posture of a foreign queen._

_Midna glanced curiously up at her and then back to the landscape as it floated by. The stranger (if stranger she was) was interesting but not particularly important.)_

_"You're doing better than I did," said the Queen of Twilight, looking neither to the left or to the right. "Events will fall as they must, but at least the Mirror is intact- you have done what I had not the strength to do, or not done what I was too weak to avoid. As for me, I took Dusm's offer. What else was there?"_

_(What was her name? Midna felt, obscurely, that she knew this- or had known it, in the unformed time, and had since forgotten it. She had forgotten so much: the colors only the Twili could see, the play of the shadow light on the skybound cities.)_

_The Queen spread her arms wide, in benediction or in confession, and closed her eyes. The wind that blew in this world tugged plaintively at her robe. "I was foolish," she said, sorrowfully. "I should have stayed. But all's too late for poor Midna who thought to break the bonds between the worlds and save both of them by so doing. Nobody has the power to save the world, sister. Even he doesn't have that power. He's beginning to realize it, I think. As for the other, saving the world doesn't matter to him anymore. Please. There is very little time."_

_(Was the sky darkening? How could it be? There was no sun in Twilight- only a weary darkness, only the clouds that billowed quietly over the dim radiance of the sky. But there it was, undeniable- a tide of inky blackness on the horizon, rising like the blood of the world._

_The Queen watched it come, as implacable as a hurricane and as silent as the desert.)_

_"Go to him," she said. "There's still time. Your lover rides out across the fields at midnight. It's very close, now, but there may still be a chance. You can still stop him. I don't know what happens if you don't- it's very dark and I can't see so well anymore. Please. Go to him."_

_(Blackness washed over them, blotting out the land and the kingdom and everything that fell between. Midna closed her eyes. There was no profit to opening them.)_

_Her sister whispered in the darkness. "Tell him I miss him," she said, "every day of every hour. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him…"_

_(Midna awoke with tears on her face and touched them in wonder. For a moment a hot urgency gripped her heart painfully tight. There was still time- but time for what? Already the dream was fading._

_Vainly Midna struggled to remember. It had seemed so real-_

_No. It was gone._

_The imp laid her head down on the pillow and wondered, vaguely, where Link was._

_"'Every day of every hour,'" she whispered, and went back to sleep.)_

It changed everything if she was right, thought Link as Epona thundered on through the field.

It meant that he wasn't standing on the side of the angels anymore. It meant that he might already have done immeasurable harm. It meant that he was a liability.

The first drops of rain pattered down on the grass and exploded juicily against the tough green fabric of his tunic. Link couldn't be bothered. He was thinking, fiercely thinking, racing for the epiphany he could dimly perceive waiting for him, just over the next hill-

And after all, what had she done? Started a war- well, the war would have come for her, sooner or later. Built an army- what of it? You needed an army, when you were Queen. The goddesses knew he would have killed cheerfully to have a safety net, then. Now she was provoking the Gorons, but after all what were the Gorons? Isolationists, temperamental and unpredictable, who raised the price on metal every year and permitted no interlopers into their sacred mines-

No. He couldn't believe that. The Gorons had been kind to him.

Starting a war, building an army, provoking the Gorons into war- all for Hyrule, ever for Hyrule. Did that excuse it? Was the sin wiped clean by the nobility of her intentions? Was it right if Zelda alone bore the responsibility?

Did the ends justify the means?

_Beneath silk sheets and behind iron doors, protected from the cold by an eiderdown quilt and from her enemies by the vigilance of the palace guard, Zelda slept._

_(In Zelda's dreams she was walking through the battlefield in the clammy silence that comes after the war is won but before anyone has had time to bury the bodies and hammer out the swords. The hem of her gown dragged slightly on the bloodsoaked grass, an indignity that would have set her ire blazing in the waking world._

_Here, all she felt was a penetrating sadness harsher than the cold. Why was she here? Surely, somewhere in the world, there was warmth and light, a hot drink from a considerate servant and Hyrule's work to be done. Surely, somewhere, there was a place where she belonged-_

_"What are you doing?" came the cultured, irate voice behind her._

_Zelda did not turn around. "What has to be done," she said serenely. "I'm doing what has to be done."_

_"Nobody thinks you're going to go through with this," rebutted the voice. "Do you know that? Everyone's waiting for you to turn back. One word from you and the order will go down the line like lightning and two minutes later the world will still be in the same shape. By the goddesses, don't you see what an opportunity you have?"_

_"An opportunity for things to go on the way they always have?" Zelda snapped. "For the sun to rise tomorrow on the same tired kingdom that's been dragging itself out of bed for a thousand years and going back to sleep when the sun sets without having accomplished a single thing worth recording? Really? Do you call that opportunity?"_

_"I call that a _miracle._ A thousand years of peace-!"_

_"A thousand years of stagnation."_

_"You're going to start a war," moaned the voice. "And after you've won it comes another, and another, as the ship of state goes down. They'll curse your name, the soldier's wives and their children and their children's children and-"_

_"You have no idea what you're talking about," said Zelda. "I know who you are, Link-" she turned around- "and you won't change my-"_

_Hands sheathed in white gloves shot out and caught Zelda by the neck. Hands that had not known war or the weight of a sword clamped down on her windpipe. The Queen gagged as she looked up into her own face, furious and mad in the eventide, eyes blazing with fury._

_"Call them off," hissed the other Zelda. "Call them off.")_

_She awoke with her fingers locked around her slender throat and tore them free with a cry. Held out at arms length in front of her they trembled. Her hands had never shook before._

_"Never," she whispered, and forced herself to lay down again. A moment later she was asleep._

_(In Zelda's dreams her doppelganger sat with her knees drawn to her chest on the bloody ground and glared up at her with hollow eyes._

_"You fool," she said. "It's too late.")_

The pain came third. First there was the unfamiliar pressure, the half-remembered cold, the sudden vertigo as Link tumbled from the saddle with a brown-fletched arrow buried high up on his thigh and Epona galloped on without him.

Then, the sound of thunder and the icy curtain of rain, turning the ground to mud and soaking him to the bone in an instant. As Link hauled himself to his feet he felt thirty pounds heavier and the water cascaded off of him like a pocket avalanche.

That was when the pain hit him like a thunderbolt and almost- but not quite- drove him to his knees. With a howl of anguish Link tore the arrow free, snapped it in half with one hand and dropped the pieces to the ground. The Master Sword practically leapt into his hand from the scabbard. Someone had shot him.

Someone was going to die tonight.

A ghost loomed in the downpour. Link had an impression of anonymity- plain chainmail, a helmet over the eyes and a brown traveling cloak- before his sword moved in his hands and cut the bastard's legs out from under him, sending him swooning into a gout of his own blood.

Footsteps behind him. Link thrust the blade backwards through the narrow gap between his elbow and his body and was rewarded with momentary resistance, a musical jangle of parting mail, a harsh short gasp (had somebody said his name?)

Bandits or highwaymen? Link couldn't care less. In the chaos that had settled on his life, in the howling uncertainty and the wolf-dreams, there was one constant that never wavered in the slightest: with a sword in his hand he was Death walking.

Two of them, lunging up from the shallow ditch that ran along the side of the road- they must have been half-drowned in the pouring rain. There was a moment of mutual indecision. Link waited, patient as the hawk.

The first one went high, stabbing his sword at Link's unprotected neck. The second one went low, brought his saber down at Link's ankles before he realized that Link's ankles weren't where they had been at the start of his swing and Link's boot came down, bringing his blade crashing to the mud. Above, Link's sword came up, catching the first bandit's blade in the hand guard, and Link's foot left the second bandit's saber and kicked the first bandit squarely in the ankle. As the man's boot slid back in the black mud, sending him to his knees, Link brought the Master Sword down two handed and ended his life with a single brutal blow.

The second bandit had half-risen with his dirty sword clutched limp in one hand when the Ordonian came about and punched him with the hand holding the sword. He went down with blood fountaining from a broken nose and Link plunged his blade deep into his chest.

An arrow whizzed past his ear and Link's head turned to track its source like a bloodhound on the scent of injured prey. There, on his belly in the grassy rise. Link knew he couldn't get to him in time, turned ponderously, began to walk.

The archer fitted a new arrow into his bow and fired. Link's sword was barely visible as it smashed the projectile out of the air.

Did the man know who he was up against? He scrambled for another arrow. This one was poorly aimed, corkscrewed through the air. Link didn't bother. Ten feet now.

Five feet and the man was scrambling to his feet, slipping in the mud. Terror dawned in his eyes as Link raised his sword high into the air-

And brought it down. Terror faded, light faded, joy and pride and sorrow and lust faded as death took the bandit by the hand and led him away into the darkness.

Link looked about at the carnage he had created and the bloodlust left him. The Master Sword plunged into the mud and stood there, bleak like a soldier's funeral, where Link had dropped it. Why hadn't the silly bastard run when he had the chance? There was a noise behind him.

The Ordonian turned and the man he had stabbed from behind was trying to sit up. So one had survived. It was something. Four times a murderer was better than five. If you could make that distinction when you were already four times a murderer. If you were allowed to.

Link crossed the muddy ground painfully, knelt at the survivor's side. "Who sent you?" he asked gently. "I'd know."

The man said nothing. "It won't save you," said Link, suddenly angry. "Was it Villanova who paid you? Was it Zelda? Who?"

The man said nothing. With a low roar of rage Link tore off his helmet and cast it aside in the filthy mud- and stopped. For a moment the only sound was the relentless hammer of the rain and the buzzsaw cries of far-off kargoroks.

"Oh. Goddesses," said Link, finally. "Oh. You- you weren't-"

General Barbarossa tried a grin but he must have known it came out sick and scared. "Dead men… walking, eh?" he asked weakly. "You had… the right idea."

"Did I-" began Link.

Barbarossa nodded. "In the belly," he whispered. "I'm done for, I guess. Sorry about… all this."

"Goddesses," said Link again. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" said Barbarossa. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth; he wiped it away with an absent flick of his hand. "I guess… I'm glad. I've got no… family. Parents dead… years ago. Nobody… will have to tell-"

He sucked in a convulsive gasp. "-Midna," he finished, and the blood drained from Link's face.

"What." he said. Barbarossa smiled a horrible smile.

"Your lady-love," he said. "You said… her name… Bulbin War. I _heard_ you. Good on… you. I never… never had time." A flash of regret crossed his face.

"I killed you," whispered Link.

"You killed me," whispered Barbarossa. "But I don't… resent you. Don't take it… too hard."

A beat. "I guess," he said, "you could take it… a little hard."

Link shut his eyes. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," said Barbarossa. "yeah, of course it… hurts, what the hell are you… asking for?" He coughed blood. "It's… it's bad. Funny, I… always meant… to die in bed."

"So did I." said Link, hollowly.

"You… won't." gasped Barbarossa.

"I know," said Link.

"Zelda's called muster…" said the general "…on the plains… west of the… the bridge. Royal Bombards… have been called in. They march… three days. Kakariko. You… were right."

"Why did you tell me that?" demanded Link.

Silence. Link took Barbarossa by the shoulders and stared wildly into his dying eyes.

"_Why did you tell me that?_"

"You've been…" wheezed Barbarossa, "a… friend. You killed me, but… can't say I wasn't… proud."

From somewhere over the hills, the desolate sound of a horn. Link jerked upright, glanced around. "There were-"

"Five more," whispered the general. "Just… in case. To finish the job. I remember… before the battle… I was…"

He closed his eyes. "I was…"

And opened them. "_Go,_" he snapped, and Link looked down on him for the last time with pain and fear frozen in his eyes before staggering off to find his horse.

"I forgive you," said Barbarossa, and laid his head down.

Renado hurried out the door, struggling into his ceremonial robe at one o' clock in the morning. The night flooded in, black as strong coffee and sprinkled with crazy whorls of stars.

"What's going on?" he demanded. The sentry who had hammered on his sallowwood door until Renado had answered him shook his head.

"I don't rightly know," he confessed. "Something… something bad."

"Oh, no," said Renado. He had just caught sight of the problem.

Link of Ordon slumped over his sorrel mare in the town square of Kakariko, blood trickling from a wound in his thigh. His tunic was drenched black by the rain and stained with gore and thick clinging mud. His sword dangled uselessly from his left hand. As the shaman watched it slipped from his fingers and clattered noisily against the rocks.

Six Kakariko irregulars stood about him, warily cradling homemade spears- knives tied to sticks and tree branches studded with nails. _Put them down,_ Renado wanted to tell them. _Oh, put them down. If he wanted to kill you you'd be dead already._

"We caught him coming up the gorge," whispered the sentry. "There were six Hylian cavaliers behind him but we drove them off. He hasn't said a word since he got here."

Link raised his head and looked at Renado miserably. "Sanctuary," he mumbled. "Oh, goddesses, sanctuary."

Renado swallowed. "What… what have you done?" he asked. Link stared at him for a moment and chuckled bleakly.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "Killed them that weren't supposed to be killed. Left a friend to die alone in- in the rain. Always the same. Always the same. Please, I beg of you. Sanctuary."

"We don't do that anymore," said the shaman gently. "Only the goddesses can forgive."

Link nodded. "Expected as much," he rasped. "Isn't it always the way? I-"

_Nobody… will have to tell-_

His face went blank. "Midna!" he cried, horror-struck, and wheeled his horse about. Abandoning caution Renado ran forward and grabbed the reins.

"You can't ride back in this rain," he cried. "They're looking for you-"

"Let- me- go!" roared Link, and struck Remondra a heavy blow with the back of his hand. The shaman fell to the ground with the Ordonian's shouts ringing in his ears.

"What else do I have left?" he raved. "Goddesses preserve me! What else do I have to fight for?"

"Kakariko," said Renado, rubbing his face. "Fight for Kakariko. Was it Zelda?"

Link stared down at him.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Yeah. It was Zelda."

"She's coming," snapped Renado, allowing the sentry to help him up. "Maybe as soon as tomorrow. Gor Coron told us. All of Kakariko is in arms tonight. You want something to fight for? Fight for us. The way it used to be, all right?"

The Ordonian hesitated. Renado drove the point home.

"Fight like you did when you took up arms against the darkness."

"Yes," said Link, and Renado sagged in relief. "But Midna-"

"I'll ride," said the shaman. "I used to know my way around a horse, believe it or not, and they won't be expecting one tired old shaman abroad at this time of the night. She's the one you were looking for?"

Link closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said.

"It was worth it?"

"Yeah," said Link. "She was worth it."

"I'll bring her back to you," said Renado. "I'll go and find her and bring her back. You- you clean up, all right? And get some sleep. You have a big day ahead of you."

Link blinked. He blinked again.

"I am so damned tired," he said, and fell off his horse.

Hands reached out to catch him as Link sank into a dreamless sleep, and bore him off towards the morning.

* * *

Barbarossa lay on the field with the rain coming down around him, but he didn't feel it. The general was adrift in the ocean of his pain, that surged and crashed and boiled around him. Sooner or later he would drown in it. Gut wounds took a long time.

His regimental sword lay naked on the muddy grass beside him. It was possible that there was not another sword of its like in all the army of Hyrule, for Barbarossa had led the Fourth Skirmishers into the battle that had ultimately claimed all but five of the fifty who had set out behind him- and of those five only Barbarossa had gone to war again.

On that fine burning morning he had drawn his sword and held it aloft to catch the light, as the front ranks of Zelda's army marched singing into hell and Link's great horse snorted and whinnied and stamped it's feet in readiness. He had drawn his sword and held it aloft and told them- he had told them-

He had told them that he would see them on the other side.

All his friends. All his old friends. Whatever had become of them? Almost tenderly the general wrapped his trembling fingers around the wire hilt of his sword and dragged it free of the mire.

"Long live the Queen!" he whispered. Nobody heard him.

And two minutes later General Barbarossa opened his eyes on the other side to a world without rain.


	8. Samson at Gaza

As anyone who is in regular correspondence with me knows, two nights ago I had an epiphany, and here it is_: I know how the story is going to end_.

Yeah, that's how much of a badass I am. Moving on- a couple of people I've spoken to didn't get the chapter alert on "By Moonlight", so you might want to double check before starting this 'cos otherwise it won't make a great deal of sense. Also, quick note- chapters will be coming out somewhat faster now that we're in the endgame. Five to go!

Reviews are always appreciated, folks.

* * *

Chapter Seven  
Samson at Gaza 

Darbus snorted the perfumed air of the sanctuary like a malcontent racehorse.

"Little human," he began, "maybe you don't understand how urgent the situation is. We need to know everything that you know."

"That," remarked Link, staring down into his coffee as if there was some great and original secret at the bottom of the mug, "would take quite some time."

The patriarch ground his teeth together. Darbus had a lot of teeth and the sound they made when he did this was like pebbles rolling together at the bottom of a swift-running stream.

"Look," he growled, "little human, we're giving you our hospitality, and under very strange circumstances. We are _very_ busy right now. If you aren't going to help us-"

Gor Coron laid a restraining hand on Darbus' arm and the patriarch glared down at him.

"Look," whispered the elder quickly, "he is in our camp now, see? This is _Link_. He is- listen to me, Darbus- he is the fiercest and the most competent warrior in all of Hyrule- next," he added hurriedly, "to yourself. We cannot afford to ostracize him at this juncture."

"What do you propose?" rumbled Darbus. Gor Coron sighed.

"Let me handle this, all right?" he said hopefully. "Anyways you ought to be drilling with the troops. They are needing you there and I think that you are needing me here, see? I will take care of things for you."

The hulking Goron glared down, flexing and unflexing his arms as he always did when there was a decision to be made. The muscles moved under his skin like trout.

Then he bared his teeth and nodded once, grudgingly. Darbus stomped over to the door, turned to glare at Link once more, and shouldered his way into the blinding morning of Kakariko. Gor Coron sighed in mild relief and squatted on the ground in front of Link.

His friend sat cross-legged on the thin dust that an army of maids with brooms couldn't hope to keep out of the sanctuary. If the Gor had had the words he would have said that Link looked like a shipwrecked sailor, opening his eyes on fifteen miles of pristine beach with a spar of wood clutched in his hand and the brine crusted in his clothes and hair- out of place, disoriented, and far too proud to show it even if there was nobody around to see.

"Link," he said gently. Link looked up from his coffee.

"I killed a man last night," he said.

Gor Coron sighed.

"I understand," he said. "Or I think I do. It is never easy to kill. But here and now-"

"Oh, hell," said Link, "of course it isn't, you think this is new? But I killed a _man_ last night, Gor, a _man_, not a monster, a _man_ with two legs and two arms and two eyes and a nose and a mouth and damn it all, Gor, he was my friend. It shouldn't…"

Link swallowed, looked down. "It shouldn't have happened that way."

The elder closed his eyes. "Link… I grieve for your friend. But we need you."

Silence. When Link looked up this time someone had built a wall behind his eyes.

"They will come for you in three days," he said mildly, "or two days- I couldn't say. Zelda's called her muster in the western plains. The Royal Bombards are out in force and there _will_ be cannons. Is Barnes accounted for? Has anyone seen him?"

_Why didn't he say this before…?_ Gor Coron wondered. Out loud he said "Barnes is leading the militia. Hopefully they won't be necessary, but it keeps him out of the way."

"They'll come in through the northwestern gorge," decided Link. "And they'll come in force- maybe seven, eight hundred strong. If they can manage it they'll hit you from three hundred yards out and take your Gorons apart before you get close enough to fight hand to hand so _your_ job is to make sure they can't manage it, all right? They'll have limited munitions- only what they can commandeer from Castle Town, if you're lucky, but you aren't going to be lucky. Throw up a barricade in the northwest pass- _blast_ a barricade if you have to. As high as you can make it but certainly high enough that they won't be able to pitch their shot over it, as thick as you can make it but certainly thick enough to slow them down. I know something about cannons."

"And then-" began Gor Coron

"And then," Link overrided, "she'll have to come to you. Over the wall. With Kakariko at your back it'll take them weeks to break through if they break through at all."

"We don't have weeks," said Gor Coron honestly. "Renado can't feed the refugees more than a few days from the village stores before they run dry. We've been relying on flour from Kakariko and meat from Castle Town."

Link stared at him for a moment.

"Then you must hope," he said, "that Zelda can afford a siege as little as you can."

* * *

From the shadows, Luda watched him go. 

Link stepped out of the sanctuary and was struck by a sudden and inextricable paralysis at the sight of Kakariko by daylight.

The refugees had captured the city in the mountains without a fight and they had remade it in their image: colorful, poor, boisterous. He could see fragments of the ruined township he had walked as a sacred wolf, here and there, in the angle of a signpost, a neglected Milky Way of broken glass in the shady alley between two tired houses.

But Kakariko-!

Kakariko with every house and shop doing double or triple duty, with every freestanding wall slopped with cheap paint in brilliant colors: turquoise, gold, white. Kakariko with young men in rags roasting strips of tough, untasty-looking meat on braziers in the streets and selling ears of corn from long-neglected fields from makeshift carts- carts! There were carts in the street, and horses, and mules, and feral chickens that would tear the flesh from your bones if you tried to grab them for the pot.

There were old women with tattooed faces and old men with skin painted like Gor Liggs, that great charlatan. There seemed to be street dancers and soapbox musicians every few feet, so their songs ran together in a jangled disharmony. Everywhere there was room, even in the caves and on the bluffs, people had pitched tents and thrown up lean-tos- anything to have a place to hang your hat, a place to sleep, a place to call home.

It was as loud as a really good war and just as dirty, and it stunk to high heavens because they hadn't worked out sewers yet and the sanitary needs of the burgeoning population had long since surpassed the strength in the arms of the latrine-diggers and one of these days there was going to be a really good plague and what the hell right did Kakariko have to be a city? All it was was a pitiful little canyon, dry as death except for the hot springs and the spirit's pool, which was infested with fairies in any case and on second thought that plague would never stand a chance because inside of two weeks they'd have run out of flour, and the corn in those carts was probably the very last extreme of the year's crop, and in ten days time it would be all those toastrack horses and threadbare mules roasting over the braziers- assuming they hadn't run out of firewood- and three days after _that_ they'd be down to the damned _chickens_. Kakariko! Ten years from now they'd be using that name for an oath!

It was so damned beautiful that Link could hardly stand to look at it.

A few feet away Barnes struck a match down the wall and held it up to watch it flare before holding it to the tip of an enormous cigar. "Hey, buddy," he said in greeting, waving a lazy hand. "How's things?"

"Never thought I'd see you lighting up, Barnes," Link shot back casually. "That's a bad habit, your line of work."

"Nah, nah," grinned the potbellied little man, "militiamen can smoke as much as they want."

"I _heard_ about that," said Link, leaning back against the door. "I guess I didn't take you for the heroic sort. What made you?"

Barnes drew a deep breath of smoke into his lungs and coughed it out a few seconds later so hard that his face went plum. "Blow me away," he wheezed, trying unsuccessfully to slap himself on the back, "it's been… too damn long…!"

"Hoy, Barnes," said Link, snapping his fingers. "What made you sign up? I know it can't be the money."

"Aw, hell, Link," said Barnes, scowling, "it's Kakariko, isn't it? I was born here, wasn't I? Climbed the watch platform when I was just a nipper- my old man beat me blue after that, I'm tellin' you, but hell, it was worth it. You think I was always this old? Had me some friends, and-" a mist of recollection passed over his exaggerated features "-and I used to have me a beer," he said quietly, "every night in the inn. Used to walk on over and have me a beer, yes sir. With my friends. You know those monsters killed pretty much everyone who used to live here, yeah?"

"I know," said Link.

"We-ell," said Barnes, "you know that was a real blow. That was my life, right there. My honest to goodness life. But things changed, you know? Now there's a few hundred new faces and maybe I'm a fair sight older than the most of them but I like 'em well enough and, why, they like me, 'cos I'm a nice guy, me. Young fellow called Jesse moved into the inn- you hear about that?"

"Was he the one with the knife tied to a pool cue?" hazarded Link. Barnes grinned his yellow grin.

"That's the one!" he crowed. "He's mighty proud of that pigsticker, and who can blame him? But the point is if I want to have me a beer of an evening I can just walk over and give Jesse my three green ones and he'll slide me a tall one- although," he allowed, "I don't have as much stomach for it after all those months and the beer's piss anyways. But that ain't the point."

"What's the point?" asked Link. Barnes raised one finger.

"The point," he said, "is that this place was dead as dirt a month ago and now you can hardly walk out your front door without tripping over the guy sleeping on your stoop. Now, I'm not saying I don't sometimes wish we was back in the bad old days, but for the most part this is good times, you got me? The point is maybe I don't have a taste for the beer but at least I can go and have a chin-wag, right? I got people to talk to. In fact there's a couple of guys I like to go down to the inn with most nights, and hell, Link, Kakariko's an old whore but my old man's in the boneyard Renado keeps behind the sanctuary and I'm never moving out, no, not me."

Barnes took another drag on the cigar. This time he managed to keep most of it down.

"And now the old whore is on her feet again," he continued, "hell, she's practically doing handstands in the street, and all of the sudden Queen stick-up-her-ass Zelda wants to shut the place down? Aw, hell, Link, I'm no hero, but I can tell you this- it's not happening. Din's name, I won't let it."

He sucked on the end of the cheroot and coughed appreciatively. "Anyways," he said, giving Link a sideways look, "I don't like to talk about it so much. You got something in your eye?"

"No," said Link, blinking, "No, I'm fine." He hesitated. "Look, Barnes, your boys are going to be on the south barricades. I doubt Zelda's going to be making a big push there but there's going to be some trouble."

Barnes waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I got it covered, Link. Anyways they won't drag cannon that far- I know those bombard boys, they got weak arms."

"Right," said Link. "Right. Listen, I'm going to go drill with the Gorons-"

"Yeah yeah," said Barnes, "good luck with that. You have a nice day, hear?"

As soon as Link was around the corner he pulled on the cigar and sighed appreciatively as the rich smoke trickled out of his nostrils.

"Din," he said happily, "I missed smokin'."

* * *

The hero stood before the Gorons with his army shield hanging casually from one hand, propping himself up in the dust with his terrible sword. 

"How will they come for you?" he asked, with an air of repetition. The Gorons looked at each other in a gesture so simultaneous as to be comical. Link kept his face serene and detached with a conscious effort; if they didn't respect him they couldn't learn from him and if they didn't learn from him the war was already over.

"How will they come for you?" he said again, and one of the Gorons- this one had the carefully cast features of the class clown- raised one ponderous arm.

"Single-file?" he said. There was an appreciative rumble of laughter. Link grinned like a curved Gerudo knife.

"Yes," he said reflectively, "they might well come for you single-file." The laughter stopped and so did Link's smile.

"Never discount the possibility that your opponent may be stupid. That's a fool's error and I don't intend that I should go to battle alongside fools. _But_," he added, raising one slow finger, "if you were to ask me what the stupidest thing in all the world was, then I would tell you."

He looked the Goron who had stepped forward straight in the eye. "The stupidest thing in all the world," he said, very clearly, "is to assume yourself smarter than your opponent. Come at me."

This time the rumble wasn't directed at Link. _How well he plays them,_ thought Gor Coron from the shadows. _It is as if he has been teaching all his life._

"Come at me," Link said again, and the Goron detached from the crowd, clenched his hands into cannonball fists and raised them to the level of his impassive face. But didn't charge- a cautious one, this. Maybe one that knew the stories. Link raised his shield and the Goron narrowed his cobalt eyes.

"Yes," said Link, rattling the shield, "yes, this is Goron steel, right here, and this is what they're going to be using- Goron steel from the sacred mines that _you_ sold to them. You know what they're saying right now?" He raised his eyebrows. "They're saying 'we're going to bag some Gorons tonight, yes sir, we're going to bag some stones. Gorons are so stupid they think there's something holy about metal but we're bright enough to know the only important thing about metal is _making_ holes in stupid Gorons. We're going to grind them down and pave us a road all the way from Castle Town to Kakariko-"

The Goron moved _fast_ and without technique. One fist shot out at the end of one tree-trunk arm like an arrow leaving the world's largest bow to crumple Link's shield like newsprint and shatter every bone in the weak human hand behind it.

Link, who had already decided that he didn't want this to happen, brought the shield in close and sent it outward in a low brutal arc that caught the Goron's fist at an angle and sent him stumbling as the force behind it missed its mark and kept going. The Goron sprawled in the dust like a bearskin rug.

To his credit- ever to his credit- he didn't wait for the final blow but it came for him anyway as he rolled fast to one side and met the Ordonian's great sword coming the other way. He swallowed audibly. The edge of the blade pressed tight against what could charitably be called his neck and it had moved so fast that he had only seen it as a momentary flicker against the sun.

"This is how they'll come for you," said Link from his silhouette. "If they're smart and fast, this is how they'll come for you. Quick as lightning and just as hard as they can. You may be stronger than them and who knows? You might be smarter than them. You're sure as hell tougher than them. But you aren't tough enough. _Be afraid_. It's the best advice I can give you."

He sheathed the sword and turned to survey the troops. "They'll come with cannons," he said. "They'll come on horseback with iron lances that can go right through you. They'll come with double-handed swords, what they call executioner's swords because that's what they made them for back then. _Listen_ to me. They'll come with axes and they'll come with swords and if you _ever stop thinking_ for just one moment they _will_ end you. So you never stop thinking, got me?"

The Gorons were nodding. Some of them were nodding more thoughtfully than others. Good. Most of what he had just said had been lies but it was _useful_ lies and anyways the easier they won this time the easier it would be the time after that and the time after that.

Link glanced down at the Goron he had felled. "And most importantly," he said, "you never let them see you mad. All right? In war anger gives you an edge a sober man can't have and you should use that edge for all it's worth. But never forget that you're not fighting for anger- you're fighting for a _cause_. And that's more important."

The Goron climbed back up. "Thank you, Brother," he said humbly. "I think-"

But Link was laughing his golden laugh, and the Goron blinked in confusion. "What's funny?" he asked.

Link smiled at him, but whatever it was in his eyes wasn't mirth. "I'll tell you what's funny," he said. "I believed every word I just said."

Blankness.

Link sighed. "That'll be all, boys," he said, and slipped away down the canyon.

* * *

In the middle of the first night a shadow slipped down the side of the sanctuary, hesitated fractionally, and detached quietly into the obscuring darkness. 

It passed through the tent city like an angel long since grown cynical, expecting no recognition from the waking world and receiving none. It stepped silently over a bearded young man who was sleeping it off exactly in the middle of the street and did a brief and successful dance to avoid treading in horseshit.

Obstacles avoided, it passed grimly into the canyon and thence to Hyrule Field-

"Where are you going?" said the shaman's daughter.

The shadow paused and resolved itself into Link. "You should be abed," he said gruffly. "Anyways there's nothing you can say to stop me leaving."

Luda came out from around the signpost at the mouth of the gorge and frowned in a way that transformed her rather plain features into something briefly miraculous. "In three days," she said, "I could be dead."

"Then you should get your sleep," said Link, wincing at the harshness in his voice. "It's good practice. You're a strange little girl, you know that?"

Luda sat down on the side of the road and glanced up at the stars. "I bet you were a strange little boy," she said, and Link shrugged. "Anyways," she went on, reflectively, "my father says that when we die we keep on going, just not in the same way."

"Does he," said Link.

She kicked her legs a bit, a nervous gesture Link found oddly endearing. "My father," she said thoughtfully, "did you a favor last night."

"Your father," said Link, "is the last righteous man in Hyrule. Me, I'm just trying to walk in his footsteps."

"Isn't this righteous?" asked Luda. "Standing up against her Majesty, I mean."

"Please," said Link, "please. Don't call her that. She doesn't deserve it."

"I don't understand."

"Then I'll explain it, shall I?"

Link ran a hand backwards through his hair, glanced meaningfully at the great bulk of Death Mountain. He stabbed one finger up at it. "There," he said, "what's that?"

Luda raised an eyebrow in that way intelligent children do when talking to someone who is clearly playing the fool. "Death Mountain," she said.

"But what is it?" said Link. "I'll tell you- it's the single richest source of iron ore in all Hyrule- not just iron. Gold, silver, jewels." He counted them off on his fingers. "All the pomp and glitter of Zelda's court? Well, most of it is centuries old and practically all of it comes from that mountain, right there, and the mountains around it."

Luda nodded. "Go on," she said- very polite.

"Thank you," said Link, "I will." He gestured in the general direction of Castle Town.

"The Gorons," he said, "view metal as sacred and the mining of it as a religious act-"

"I know _that_," said Luda. "Everyone knows _that_."

"Fifty years ago," said Link, cutting her off with a glare, "that didn't matter, because Hylians could get at least half of what they needed themselves- they're poor miners, but anyone can scratch out the side of a hill if they need the metal badly enough. Goron rates are highway robbery, you see, on account of anything they drag out of the earth is technically the breath of the world, or the blood of the world, or something-"

"The bones of the world," said Luda meekly. Link scowled at her but nodded.

"Or something," he said. "But the population of Castle Town trebled in the past fifty years and suddenly demand for metal outstripped what the Council of Gors was willing to sell it for. Prices shot up- right there," he insisted, "right there is when Zelda declared war. It doesn't matter when she came out and said it- that's the moment when it was _decided_." Luda was looking at him with adolescent skepticism.

"How do you _know_ all this?" she asked. Link laughed.

"I don't know anything," he said, "but I know a scholar. There's an abandoned mine near the Bridge of Elden- did you know that?"

"I've never been outside of Kakariko," said Luda, a trifle wistful. Link shook his head.

"Doesn't matter. The point is- abandoned mine. Right? Holed up in the side of a cliff, the way only the Gorons know can dig them. It's got compass-stone pads set in the walls, very nice. And it's just sitting there. Well, I asked my friend the scholar about that mine, and you know what he said?"

"What?"

Link laughed. "He said it's barely ten years old. It looked for a while like they were going to stop fighting over prices and the Gorons built it as a peace offering but the day before work started the old King got the damn fool idea in his head that the day before work started would be a really great time to renegotiate. Next day the Hylian agents showed up and there wasn't a single Goron to be found. Darluster, that's the patriarch that was, called all of them home and never sent 'em back. That mine's been sitting there empty for ten stinking years because nobody knows how to make it work."

There was a moment's silence at this and Link sighed. "Zelda's right."

Luda's head shot up. "What?"

"Look," he said, "keep it down, will you? I'm only telling you this because you deserve to know why. Zelda's right. A unified Hyrule is better for everyone."

"A lot of people are going to die for a unified Hyrule," said Luda. "It's not going to be better for them.

"You really are a strange kid, aren't you?" asked Link. Luda scowled at him. "But I'm right and you know it. Look at Kakariko, for god's sake- no sewers and precious little food. If Zelda were running the show she'd have to take responsibility because that's what you have to do when you're in charge. She can't make things _worse_."

"We didn't ask her to make things _better_," said Luda. "We didn't ask her to come here at all. She didn't give us a choice. Don't we deserve that much?"

"Of course you do," said Link harshly. "Of _course_ you do. Do you think I don't know that? But it's out of my hands, don't you understand? You are going to _lose_, and if you don't lose three days from now you'll lose in a month when the food runs out and it'll be a damn sight harder. Every day you make her wait she's going to be less and less inclined to treat you fairly. I can't save you, Luda."

"You think we'll give up, don't you?" she asked wonderingly. Link opened his mouth and she stomped her foot. "You think we'll give up if you go and nobody will have to die, _that's_ why you're _really_ leaving. Did you even believe any of that stuff about Zelda being better for everyone?"

"Some of it," confessed Link. Luda glared.

"We were going to fight before you got here," she said, very clearly, "and we're going to fight whether you stay or go. _We don't want her._"

Link stared at her open-mouthed for a moment then snapped his jaw shut at the sound of hoofbeats- Hylian calvary? He made a decision.

"Get back behind that sign," he said, and drew his sword with a grim efficiency that would have frightened the life out of her if she hadn't known who it was for.

He needn't have worried. Renado came galloping up the gorge on Epona's back, drenched in sweat with a long cut down his arm staining his sleeve with blood. "Papa!" cried Luda, and ran to him.

"Renado," said Link. "Where is she, Renado?" The hand holding the sword trembled.

"Link," gasped the shaman. "Link-"

"_Where is she?_"

The shaman gathered his thoughts. "Your house in Ordon's burned," he said, helplessly, "your garden trampled by horses, and of the imp-"

"No," said Link, perfectly calm. It was not an outburst. It was not a request. It was a simple denial of the way the world worked- a world where houses could be burned and gardens trampled.

Renado shut his eyes. "-and of the imp, no sign."

Silence. After a moment Renado opened his eyes again.

"Oh," said Link, still as a statue. "Oh. No. Not this- I swear to the goddesses-"

He looked down at the sword in his hand and something snapped. "Oh, you _bitch_," said Link, and threw it.

The Master Sword left his hand on a trajectory that should have sent it clattering lethally off the stone walls of the canyon in a random arc of razor-sharp steel, but some trick of geology conspired against him then and the blade of the ancients struck the cliff head on, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. There was a sound like a bone snapping and then the Master Sword was simply stopped, embedded full eighteen inches into the solid rock, quivering in the mountain air as if it sensed its master's rage and dreaded it.

"_Bitch_," shouted Link, and clutched the heliotrope hilt with both hands. With a single titanic wrench his sword was free, dull with stone dust and terrible in the moonlight. Hoofbeats echoed up the canyon- someone was coming.

The horseman, a corporal in Zelda's new army, had been tracking Renado for nearly an hour and his back hurt like a bastard from all that bouncing in the saddle- but it was worth it, because there the old queer was, just sitting there in the sorrel mare's saddle, and tonight he was going to earn his pay. Unsheathing his sword, the gave a low cry and dug his spurs into the horse's sides, and almost did not hear Link's cry.

Almost, but not quite. "What the _hell_," he said to himself, but there was the shaman and there was his daughter and it was unnerving sometimes how well things worked out for him. He raised his saber-

And screamed, as a vengeful streak of green loomed up out of the darkness with a greatsword rampant in his hands and cut his arm clean off at the shoulder. Zelda's man fell off of his horse with blood spouting from his stump, looked up at the sky, and had time for one more scream as the Master Sword came down and struck off his head.

Luda was huddled against Epona's legs; Renado's had opened his mouth and forgotten to close it again. Under the parsimonious light of the stars, Link's face was ancient and horribly calm.

"Zelda is fallen," he said, and stalked off towards Kakariko.


	9. Jericho

_"Wow" is all I can say about the feedback from Chapter Seven- I am honored to have held on to such an enthusiastic readership this late in the trilogy! But that's neither here nor there.  
Here's Chapter Eight, and there's not much to say about it. The ending is perhaps a bit abrupt- I leave that to you to decide. I think it came out all right.  
Comments are always appreciated! I'll leave you to it, then._

* * *

Chapter Eight  
Jericho 

Link stood quietly on the bluff overlooking Kakariko, watching the great copper disc of the sun as it rose over the red granite cliffs. Perhaps the hawk saw the sunrise as well, reflected in the limitless black depths of his beady eyes. Perhaps the hawk saw something else, something obscure and ominous, buried in all that fire too deep for human sight to pick out. It was hard to tell with birds.

"It takes three hours," said Link, "to learn how not to be a wolf. Be told." The hawk cocked its blunt head curiously.

The Ordonian went on. "Learning how to be a man, well, that's easy. The muscles remember even if the mind doesn't. No, it's remembering how not to be a wolf that's the tricky part."

The hawk stared at him as if to suggest understanding. For a moment Link felt that the long hike to find the one patch of hawk-grass that grew in Kakariko had been wholly worthwhile.

"You can't talk to animals," Link said. "Or at least they won't talk back if you do. People give you looks if they think you're the sort who talks to animals." The irony of the situation escaped him. "You can't bite, or scratch, and you're not allowed to sniff yourself. Or other people. Pouncing is discouraged. Growling is frowned upon. You can't howl even if the moon is full. As for table manners- I don't want to talk about it. All that stuff takes three hours. The first two are likely to be awkward."

The first souls were beginning to stir in Kakariko- the bakers, shrugging into their aprons and stoking their fires (because even in wartime men want bread); the irregulars with their makeshift spears and improvised shields, going to man the barricades; the Gorons, trudging down from the mountains on their unknowable objectives. Link watched them go.

"It has been so damn long since I was a wolf," said Link. "Is what I'm trying to say. I can't remember what it was like. Or what you were like, back in those days. We've come a long way, you and I."

The hawk contrived to indicate that this was so.

"I spent the whole night thinking about what hawks want," said Link. "Six hours of wakeful restlessness trying to get back into the mind of a wolf. Then I realized that was bollocks. Why should a wolf know what a hawk wants any more than a man?"

'Why indeed?' That was what, more than anything else, the expression of avian quietude in the hawk's eyes seemed to convey. Link brought the hawk close to his lips, whispered lovingly into where the ear should be.

"Find her for me," he said, "and you'll eat well."

A moment passed. The hawk appeared to consider this.

Then it spread its ragged wings and leapt from Link's arm, plummeting into the dawn chill before catching the wind under it and soaring away, away- over the rust-colored cliffs and over the scrap metal houses and over the great brown parabola of the world.

Link watched it go. "I wonder-" he said, and stopped, and shook his head- talking to himself again- and headed back down the trail to Kakariko.

* * *

On the first day, the word traveled across the city: nobody got in or out until it was over.

Sentries perched up in the high passes like vultures, cradling shortbows and crossbows and piling rocks the size of apples in businesslike pyramids wherever the ground of their lonely aries was flat enough. Anyone coming from Kakariko got a warning- only one, and then they got an arrow or a bolt or a rock between the shoulderblades.

You didn't get the warning if you were coming _to_ Kakariko. War has no mercy save for a quick thrust.

Renado found Link sitting cross-legged and shirtless in the sacred springs, hand-washing his tunic in the unnatural stillness of the waters. His chain shirt glittered ominously from the pebbles just below the surface.

The part of Renado that was still a coward didn't want to surprise Link- even without a sword in his hand, even doing busy, innocuous work. But that was foolishness, of course. Link knew he was there. How could he not?

The shaman cleared his throat. "Can't be good for the mail," he said, for the sake of having something to say.

Link didn't turn around. "No hand knit that mail," he said.

"Right," said Renado, and hesitated. "Listen, about last night-"

"No hand knit that mail or wove this shirt either," said Link, as calm as desolation as he wrung water out of his tunic. "They were given to me whole from the bosom of the light spirit Faron, who appears, they say, in the form of a monkey. In the woods where I grew up. The things the spirits make are like the things that mortals make except that they are perfect. Are you afraid of me, Renado?"

Renado swallowed. "No," he lied.

"You should be," said Link, serenely. "The stuff the tunic is made of is tougher than leather. In the temple hidden in the lost woods a Lizafos almost got me, one time- I walked straight into the room without checking the corners and he sprang out at me from a shadow. One moment I was standing tall and the next I was on the ground and it felt like my back was broken. It wasn't, of course. I dealt with the Lizafos and the next time I got to a safe place I took off the tunic to inspect the damage. There wasn't any."

He stretched the rough fabric tight, examined it critically. "But there was an old cut, sewn up so well as to be nearly invisible, just behind the heart would be," he went on. "So someone wore the tunic, once. It's tasted sweat and blood not my own. Who else could have worn this tunic but the heroes of legend?"

Renado stared at him, comprehension dawning by degrees in his slag coal eyes.

"And I wonder what blade was strong enough to tear that cloth," said Link, plunging the sodden tunic back under the surface, "and I wonder whose hands they were that sewed it up again when that blade was through with him. But mostly I wonder how many of them ended up where I am, at the end of their days- caught in the trap they set for themselves, with the stink of blood in their nostrils."

"Link," said the shaman, but Link went on regardless.

"And whose hands will take these borrowed rags from my bones when I've gone on to the darkness?" he demanded. "And who will it be that casts them into the water for the spirits to have their way with and takes my sword back to the stone I pulled it from? Who will it be, shaman? You? Luda? Zelda?"

"_Link_," insisted the shaman, taking an involuntary step backwards, "listen-"

"No," roared the hero, exploding up from the water, "_you_ listen, shaman, and I'll tell you something- eighteen years I've worn the Triforce on my skin and it's never given me one thing- one single stinking thing- that it didn't take away from me again! Not one- stinking- thing! _This is all I have left!_"

He stood there with his fists clenched, gleaming with sweat and fury, trembling like a reed in the burning air. Then the spirit left him, suddenly and completely- like a curtain whisked back to show that the landscape beyond is sage and gorsebrush and nothing at all miraculous. With a great sigh he fell backwards into the water.

"If I had a needle and thread," he said, quietly, "I think I'd sew a warning for the one that comes after me. I think I'd tell him not to bother."

"How did this happen?" asked Renado plaintively from the edge of the pool. "How did all of this happen, Link?"

For a long moment the Ordonian was silent.

"One day," began Link, closing his eyes, "I woke up as a wolf…"

* * *

Late at night Link fell into his secondhand cot in the sanctuary annex, mutely furious with himself. Renado hadn't understood- how could he have? He hadn't been there. 

In a hand-me-down bed, between borrowed sheets, Link went to sleep.

And dreamed-

_The sun was an unblinking eye, raging at the apex of the firmament and blasting the world with its unbearable radiance. The battlefield around him was bathed in a light so blinding that it ate whole the shadows of the bodies transfixed with spears and pinned to the bloodsoaked, faintly murderous earth._

_Corpses swirled around him like burning ships circling a whirlpool, glaring at him in mute accusation, and he whispered their names-_

Renado. Luda. Barnes. Gor Coron Darbus Colin Beth TelmaShadAuruAsheirusliliamalomidna-

_-before he remembered that wolves have no voices to remember the dead and his tongue fell dumb in his mouth like a lump of clay. Had the sun always been this bright? The light was shattering the world and swallowing it ravenously, mutilating the mutilated bodies and the gallow's trees and the mountains until-_

_Until there was nothing left. He was alone in a perfect void of whiteness._

_"I was foolish," came a voice to his left; he spun, slavering teeth bared against the nothingness, but the voice was behind him now._

_"I was foolish," it repeated. "How can things ever go back to the way they used to be- the way we used to be? How could I ever have thought I could set things right?"_

_A new voice, caked in bitterness and clear as a high note played on a pipe in the morning. "I should have had him hanged when I had the chance." ("I was foolish," whispered the first voice)_

_The third voice was low, rough, undeniably masculine. "I did not know he is coming," it said, gruffly. "Now I can reach out hand and pluck world as if from tree. It would be better if I was dead."_

_"Dead," sang the fourth voice, mournfully ("…when I had the chance." "How could I ever…") "Dead, in this world as in the next. Could I have loved her? Going away, going away. I-"_

_Link threw back his head and howled in the whiteness, and silence fell like midnight in a mineshaft._

_Except for the echoing sound of footsteps, far away but drawing nearer._

He_ was coming._

Link screamed like a bull in the darkness and lunged upright, drawing his sword from under the pillow with a sound like steel cutting silk and for one terrible moment he heard, quite clearly, the thump of a leather boot on a stone floor. Then he remembered where he was- who he was- and his fingers loosened on the sculpted hilt.

Who had heard him? Link pricked his ears but nothing was stirring in the dusty interior of the sanctuary. Renado was off on guard duty, then; well and good. Link, of course, was exempt from guard duty, because-

With an effort the Ordonian forced himself to sheath his sword. He sat there for five minutes, watching his hands tremble like a pair of crabs dying on the nubby surface of the quilt.

"Losing my mind," he whispered, laying back down on the sweat-damp sheets. "Oh, goddesses. Losing my mind."

Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

"You look like hell, little human," growled Darbus. "Has Renado been mistreating you? I could have a word with him." 

"Patriarch," acknowledged Link. "Reverend Gors."

It was the afternoon of the second day and every few minutes the walls of the sanctuary would shiver, the windowpanes would rattle in their casements, dust would sift down from the ceiling to the sound of a giant foot in a giant boot coming down on Kakariko:

_Thump_

Less than a quarter-mile away the Gorons were blasting barricades out of the cliff walls with powder kegs. Every time the giant's foot came down boulders like outhouses would come thundering down the side of the canyon, splintering and abrading against the sandstone prominences before coming to rest at length across the mountain road, where such Gorons as the war effort could spare waited patiently to manhandle them into place.

_Thump_ and Link could feel the world closing off around him as neatly as a tailor's stitch. Idly his hand crept under his arm to caress the place where the tunic had been rent and sewn up again. He wondered where the blade would go in when it was his turn.

"How I hate to leave you," he mumbled, and Darbus' broad brow wrinkled in honest confusion.

"What?" he boomed. "What did you say, little human?"

"It was nothing," returned Link, dully. "A bit of doggerel, no more."

The patriarch glared at him and Link stared right back on through him. There was nothing to fear, not really. The world would take him or spare him at its pleasure.

After a moment Darbus had to look away. "You'll be on the southern barricade," he said, to cover the lapse, "along with myself and Gors Coron and Liggs-"

"I will. I will be there," said Link. "But Darbus- you have to understand that I'm not taking your orders.

The patriarch glowered ferociously. "Do you not stand with us? I thought you were a man, but perhaps I was mistaken!"

"I can't take orders from you," said Link, heatedly, "or any of these honorable Gors, nor yet Barnes on his barricade or the goddesses themselves! Don't you know me, lord? I can't take that risk!"

"You risk much more than that when you defy the will of Darbus!" thundered the patriarch. Gor Coron laid a restraining hand on his great arm but Darbus shook it off before the elder could feel the blood boiling just under his leathery skin. "I will not brook your disobedience!"

"Then what would you have of me?" demanded Link. "If all the armies of Hyrule were arrayed against me it wouldn't keep me from her throat! Should I swear fealty to you that were too proud to bend your knee to her? Din's love! Are you too dull to understand?"

"What did you just say to me-" shouted Darbus, but Link thrust one hand forward to stop him and bared his teeth like a rattlesnake.

"I saved your life," he hissed, and with a roar of frustrated wrath Darbus clenched a fist the size of a dog's skull and drove it like the fury of the gods straight at Link's twisted face.

When the echoes of that roar died out Gor Ligg's skinny painted hand was clamped around the patriarch's meaty wrist and the patriarch's enormous fist stood motionless in the air less than six inches away from shattering the Ordonian's skull like an eggshell- so in the end the Goron mystic had been a little more than a charlatan and a little less than harmless.

Link almost smiled. "Close," he said, and slipped away to let the Gors sooth the temper of the King.

* * *

_The madman came thundering out of the whiteness._

_In the monumental void there was no marker against which to measure his approach. To Link, hackles raised and teeth like pearls bared, he did not seem to be drawing nearer but, rather, growing; with every step he took he swelled like a tumor in that empty place until it seemed he would become gigantic._

_The wolf knew the precise chemistry that sent muscles firing under mangy fur, knew the crunch of bones between his teeth and the taste of blood screaming with fear and pain. In better times Link's nobler passions had ridden what the wolf knew as Midna had ridden the wolf, tempering the excesses the predator demonstrates towards his prey with something like mercy. But these times were bad indeed._

_It soared through the air with a howl of challenge bellowing up the raw tunnel of his throat and met the madman head-on, sending him crashing to what would have to be called the ground in a tangle of ermine robes and limbs. As one paw reached absently out to tear off the imposter's face Link reflected that it had been easy, far too easy; all this time, all he had to do was-_

_A hand shot up and seized the paw and the wolf's eyes shot wide open at the strength behind it, but then the hand was squeezing brutally and through the cotton numbness of dreams Link _felt_ his bones shatter._

_The madman's face- his face- swam up at him. "I know this body," it said, and the lack of interest- worse, the amusement- in that familiar voice made it terrible. "I know it better than you do."_

_A sudden pressure and Link knew that his doppelganger's legs had come up and crossed over the wolf's back, bringing the deep musculature of his chest down flush with the royal robes. He struggled and the legs clamped down harder. Distantly he was aware that his mangled left paw was screaming out its distress through the empty hallways of his body._

_"I know the how hot your fur gets when the sun is bright," continued the madman, "and how things look when you close your eyes and all the world is laid out before you in scent and vibrato."_

_Powerful legs clamped around the lupine torso so tight that the wolf's ribs buckled. Link couldn't resist a whimper of pain and the madman laughed at him, low and soft and delighted._

_"I know every muscle and every bone, every sinew, every vein and artery, and I know the pounding of a wolf's heart and the breath in a wolf's lungs."_

_And suddenly his eyes were as bright as cheap jewels with fury and his face was twisted by hatred and something unfamiliar, something like lust._

_"I know how it feels to take a shit on all fours," he spat, "and I know how raw meat tastes and I know how godawful _wrong_ it feels not to have her on your back, because I was here first, you filthy son of a bitch-"_

_The wolf twisted its neck and lunged forward to bite out the monster's throat but suddenly his hands were there, holding his jaws open, and his fingers were in his mouth, he could taste the blood on them, and the pressure was tearing him apart-_

_"Let me in," whispered the madman. "You've lost."_

"-Link! Wake up! Link! Please wake up-"

The Ordonian's eyes exploded open and Luda stumbled back from what she saw in them, tripped on a stick of firewood and fell heavily to the hardwood floor. Instantly Link was on his feet, face etched with concern.

"Luda," he said. "Luda, are you all right-"

"Stay away from me!" she cried, scrambling backwards on all fours, until she saw the guilt in his face and swallowed down the fear- _Link, Link, it's only Link-_.

"What's going on?" he asked, harshly. "Why did you wake me?"

"It's Zelda," said Luda, eyes glazed. "She's come."

A moment was all it took. The wind banged the door shut and Luda was left alone in the sanctuary.

* * *

In the old days Kakariko had been as anonymous as the dust that softened the sharp corners of the buildings and turned the gentle men and women who toiled there to grey ghosts, flitting from building to building on ordinary errands. 

Yesterday, Kakariko had flaunted her strangeness, her brash diversity, in cheap paint and bad food and weak beer and song- the city at the end of the world, glorious and strange and indefinably tragic because it would be something else tomorrow.

But on the dawn of the third day Kakariko was anonymous again. It could have been any city at any point in history, faced with the prospect of invasion and pillage, streets choked with riot. They were pulling down the door of the storehouse, they were rolling keg after keg from the inn out into the streets, they were embracing in storefronts, parting, embracing again. Here and there they were walking quickly off towards the mountains, looking neither to the left or to the right, with shovels over their shoulders to bury their treasure for a day when there was no war.

They were dancing on the rooftops. They were weeping in the gutter. Somewhere a house was burning, lending the air a taste of smoke and unease like that last brushstroke that completes a painting: _this, then_, it whispered, _is war: shovels and whiskey and a wild terror. And a house, burning._

Link didn't have the time. He drew his sword as he ran and held it above his head where the light of the rising sun could catch it and the crowds parted before the last defender of Kakariko, whispering prayers and pleas at him from the sidewalks as he went by. He didn't hear them; didn't hear anything but the clash of steel, far off and drawing nearer.

* * *

At the south barricade, Gor Coron was killing a man. 

The first sign the defenders had that Zelda's men were abroad in Kakariko Gorge was when the scouting party boiled over the barricade fifty men strong and caught the sentries that were still awake completely by surprise. By the time anyone had thought to sound the alarm three Gorons were down, their training having left them in the pinch, expressions of terminal surprise on their childish faces.

That was when Gor Coron had lunged forward out of the ranks, grabbed the Hylian with the most impressive helmet, and bashed him against the rocks hard enough to knock the wind from him. He had reared back a fist-

_No mercy-_

-and driven it into the poor bastard's ribcage, staining his hand with blood and wounding the mountain air with the sickening music of snapping bones. And he had cried-

"Come on, brothers! It is not hard!"

And the brotherhood had surged forward with one will.

In the heat of battle, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Gor Coron felt rather than heard the rasp of steel behind him, turned with a bellow frozen in his throat, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Link standing there with his sword drawn and his face set in grim lines. A slow and foolish smile spread across the Goron's face at the sight of him-

"Idiot," shouted Link, "don't you _stop_!" And suddenly he was gone into the melee, swinging his great sword with a terrible abandon.

And there was Darbus with a mask of rage sputtering on his face, smashing a soldier's face to blood and bone with one colossal fist. There, painted for war, was Gor Liggs, snapping off a palm strike to crush an unguarded windpipe, wheeling to catch a sword between two hands and shatter the blade like glass under the hammer. Gor Coron laughed, and turned, and swung his fists- strange how they seemed to have been made for punching and breaking and hurting now that the war was on them and the wolves were lose- and did not stop hitting until the cry came out that there were no more Hylians this side of the gorge.

The cheer was deafening in the still dawn air and Link was at his side, shouting something. Gor Coron grinned and pointed to his ear.

"You tell them to stop it!" screamed the Ordonian. "You tell them to stop it right now! You think you've won? You think it's over? Zelda has a thousand men under arms just over that wall!"

The cheer was dying, now, in the face of Link's blowtorch righteousness. He glared ferociously about.

"Start taking this seriously!" he shouted. "They'll take Kakariko over your dead bodies, right?"

Shouts of agreement rang out and Link jabbed one finger viciously at the barricade. "Just over that wall are the men who mean to walk over our corpses on their way to the mines!" he shouted. "They've got swords and cannons and eight men at arms for every one of you and if they win today they'll sleep the sleep of the righteous in Darunia's Hall tonight!"

Silence. He had them in the palm of his hand.

"But we won't let them!" he shouted. "Do you know why?" He grinned, suddenly- an ugly grin, like a gaping wound. "Do you know why we're going to win?"

"Why?" came the lone voice, and Link threw back his head and laughed.

"Because we're the damned heroes!" he cried, dark and merry and mad. "Goddesses preserve us, we're the damned heroes! Long live Kakariko! Long live-"

But then the gunpowder went off a hundred yards away with a flat crack they probably heard in Castle Town and Link's face went white in the rising sun at the sound of it.

"_Down!_" he cried, and a hundred and fifty Gorons hit the dirt so hard that the canyon walls trembled. Link lay face-first in the gritty dust like an animal, fingers in his ears, waiting for the explosion.

Ten seconds later and the world lurched sickeningly under him as the giant's foot came down:

_Thump._

But that would mean-

Link shot to his feet and cast about wildly for the damage. There was none. A quarter mile up the hill the screams were starting.

"Goddesses," breathed Link. "They're not firing on us." Gor Coron was staring at him with a funny expression on his face. Link turned on him with horror dawning in his eyes and knew in that moment that the world had changed.

"They're firing on Kakariko!"


	10. Achilles Heel

_So the bad news is that the update schedule is slowing down._

I'm in a bit of academic trouble- nothing too serious, you understand, but enough to put the fear of God into me. I'm bearing down for a couple of weeks and Prophecy remains, unfortunately, the single greatest draw on my time. There might be a chapter Friday next, but if not I don't see the story continuing until Spring Break on the 23rd, at which point, hopefully, I'll finish the story.

But enough about me- onwards! As always, comments put a smile on my face and a spring in my step.  


* * *

Chapter Nine  
Achilles Heel 

Link turned his eyes to the firmament and found the tranquility he saw there maddening.

The sky was a turquoise bowl inverted over the earth, a terra cotta heaven painted the precise hue of blue agave. Flecks of cloud swam the concavity like blind cave-fish, oblivious to the world.

But under the sun, the big guns boomed from Zelda's lines and the shot barreled over the heads of the besieged Gorons so fast you couldn't even see Death passing your house by. Far off in Kakariko the shrill cries of terror and pain trebled as the second shot of the war struck home.

They were bombing Kakariko, turning houses to balks of timber and chips of stone and turning tents into scraps of smoldering cloth and turning people into corpses on the streets. War was like a cheap back-alley magician who has forgotten how to put the rabbit back into the hat.

Beside him, every part of Gor Coron's aging body was quivering in rage. "We must rush the cannons!" he insisted, slamming one meaty fist into the palm of his hand.

"No," said Link, "no, we mustn't." The elder gaped at him. Link didn't take much notice. He glared about at his troops.

"You!" he shouted at the first Goron he thought he could recognize. "Up the hill and take command of the evacuation- herd them towards Darunia's Staircase and be quick about it. Everyone else, as you were."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" demanded Gor Coron. Link span to face him.

"No," he snarled, "what I'm taking is some responsibility. Perhaps you should do the same and _hold your tongue._" The Goron folded his slabs of arms over his trunk.

"They will not make it to Darunia's Staircase," he rumbled. "That Goron will never make it up the hill in time. Every second we waste here costs lives!"

"Are you stupid?" demanded Link, his hand on the hilt of his sword, one leg poised. "Why do you think Zelda's bombing Kakariko, Gor?"

The giant's foot came down and Gor Coron ground his teeth together until he could taste bone-dust hot and bitter on his tongue. The screams rang out like birdsong. "Another dozen dead," he said. "Your fault."

Link watched his eyes. "Why do you think Zelda's bombing Kakariko? You know she can't be _aiming_. Tell me what legitimate military target there is past this barricade and I'll lead the charge myself!"

Gor Coron said nothing, let his arms fall akimbo at his sides and balanced his weight on one leg. The other came up, up, up, strained parallel to the ground for one single perfect moment. And came down. A sigh went through the ranks: _Sumo_.

"You can't be serious," said Link.

Gor Coron was a statue. His face was a broad ritual mask, serene and detached.

Link shot one quivering arm westward. "Do you see that wall?" he shouted. "You know what's behind it? Get it through your head that you're behaving exactly how she wants you to behave!"

"Little human," growled Darbus, "do you answer Gor Coron's challenge or not?" Link turned on him with infinite scorn.

"Does Darbus rule on Death Mountain or has this reverend Gor cuckolded him?" he demanded. "Hear my words!"

But Darbus refused to take the bait and now it was a sea of statues- like waking up in the graveyard at vespers, like a congress of scarecrows in a lonely field. Zelda's guns boomed a fourth time and he started at the thunder of them rolling down the canyon. More ululations from distant Kakariko and a new spattering of blood staining his hands. Was there reproach in their gazes or did he imagine it?

"For every cannon firing at Kakariko," he said quietly, "she has two aimed at this barricade. The powder is primed and the shot is loaded and it is not iron rations. It is nails and arrowheads and bits of glass. It isn't Kakariko she's aiming at, gentlemen- it is your hearts and your souls and whatever shreds of conscience the world hasn't beaten out of you. A good man would be over that wall in a heartbeat and Zelda knows that. She's counting on it. She doesn't give a damn about Kakariko- this is bait, brothers, and the trap she's set is for good men."

Silence, save for the sound of men and women dying in the streets, save for the cawing of the scavenger birds who bore witness to the slaughter.

"If you go over the wall," he explained, "the war is lost."

Silence.

"Brother, ask not," said Link. Gor Coron didn't move.

He did not dare meet the challenge. Not here, not now, and not without the boots- left behind in Ordon, and where were they now? Melted? Buried in the rubble? Or in the hands of Zelda, along with his clockwork hookshots, his ball and chain- all his weapons, all his deadly little toys?

The boots were gone. Without them, he might as well have been naked.

And Link realized that the old bastard knew it.

He smiled. "I yield, brother," he said, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

A mile away, Barnes surveyed his irregulars and hummed a three note scale that spoke of somewhat diminished expectations. _We-ell_, he thought to himself, _they're surely doing their best._

And this was true. It was very true. It's just that their best wasn't- particularly-

Well, there was Jesse, and he had that damn pike leaning on his shoulder. He was some kind of proud of that spear of his, even if it was just a sharp kitchen knife tied to a barroom pool cue- and on paper it looked _good_. It was almost poetry, the idea of this scruffy bartend with sand in his boots skewering Zelda's finest. Kakariko had pluck! Damned if it didn't!

But Barnes had seen professional soldiers. He had seen war, closer up than he would have preferred. And after the war was over he had walked the battlefield, more on a whim than anything else, because Barnes was not a serious man, but for that hour and a half he had been serious. The grass had been red, that was what he remembered the most.

Not the limbs strewn casually over the killing ground. Not the bodies waiting for burial in obscene heaps here and there across the wasted heath. Not the fat bulbin who had been alive before a lead cannonball had caught him full in the belly and exploded a hole through him you could put your head through, though Barnes had retched at the sight of it, or rather not as much at the sight of it as at the realization that it had been his hand that did the fat bulbin to his death- no.

The grass had been red because blood enough to water down all the corn fields in Kakariko had been spilled over it, and as he scrubbed hysterically at his filthy boots with a wire brush that night he had arrived at a decision:

Some men were made for killing.

He wasn't one of them. Neither was Jesse, with his spear, or Barth with a saucepan strapped on his head like a kid playing at soldiers, or Futz with his hunting bow that wanted re-stringing and couldn't be relied on to hit _Darbus_ past ten paces, or Cluny with his grandfather's sword and his steel-rimmed, womanly spectacles.

Still, he nodded encouragingly, and said "Good job, lads- we'll send those weak lilies from Castle Town runnin' the moment they lay eyes, hey?" Because some things were important, and Barnes thought he knew what they were.

"Cap'n Barnes!"

Barnes, who hadn't particularly wanted to be an officer and a gentleman, winced and turned to the barricade.

"Ahoy, young- Quinn, innit?"

"_Private_ Quinn," said Quinn, looking slightly offended. "Sir, there's a white horse a' coming!"

Dread was a sour adder squirming in the pit of his belly. Nevertheless, some things were important, and Barnes made his way up the barricade, stumbling twice and cursing extravagantly, to see who had come to Kakariko.

He made it to the top, panting only slightly- _still strong_, he thought to himself, not without satisfaction, and looked down on the canyon.

There was a young Hylian officer- seemed they were all young, these days- sitting astride a horse. The horse was, in fact, white. Silently Barnes commended Private Quinn. He was a promising lad that would go far, although hopefully not in the direction he was going in now.

"Are you in command?" demanded the officer.

"Well now," said Barnes, and lit his cheroot.

The officer had a flushed red face, as lean and raw as Barnes' own, and a horrific pus-white scar that looked only half healed running down the side of it. His duds were dusty and his boots looked broken in. He was calvary through and through- born on the saddle, probably, with that nasty saber in his hand, which must have made the delivery complicated. Barnes tried not to stare at the scar.

"I am Colonel Theo," said the officer, and just like that he was. "Are you or aren't you?"

"Suppose I am," allowed Barnes. "Don't have a uniform or anything like that, but when I get to sayin' jump people generally do at that.

"You and your men will surrender your weapons and pull down this illegal barricade," said Theo flatly. "The Queen's calvary is coming through."

"Don't suppose I will," said the bombardier, regretfully. "Might as well turn back. You're going to have a time riding that pretty white nag of yours over it."

The colonel stared at him. His mutilated face worked.

"We have horses," he said, finally. "Fifty head of them."

"We'll deal with them." said Barnes.

"We have cannon," said the officer. "Cannon and shot. Do you know what grapeshot does to a human body?"

"I surely do," said Barnes. "But we'll deal with them."

"We have sabers," said the officer, and drew his from the baldric at his side. "Regulation thirty inches, folded Goron steel from the foundries in Riverbed. And we know how to use them. We have crossbows and steel bolts for them. We have spears with ash hafts."

"We'll deal with them, too." said Barnes.

"You'll die," said the officer. "Right there on that barricade. Down to the last man. And we'll trample your bodies into the mud on our way to Kakariko. Surrender now and I promise you mercy."

_Thump_. Far away bombs were falling out of the sky on his home, but Barnes didn't know it- knew only that it had grown quiet and that his men were waiting for him to say something and that today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, Colonel Theo and all the Colonel Theos of the world couldn't be allowed to have their way.

"Well, that may well be," he said slowly, "but I figure we'll keep on guardin' the pass all the same, all right? I may be a potbellied son of a bitch but I'll be damned before I turn my back on a scarface horsethief like y'self."

The colonel stared at him. Barnes grinned.

"What," he said, "you thought it was going to be easy? This is Kakariko, boy!"

* * *

_Thump_ and the Gorons were leapfrogging over the wall, shouldering aside boulders in their enthusiasm, using the canyon and one another for handholds, and bellowing a warlike slogan to the sky as they went to battle-

"_Kakariko! Kakariko!_"

Stupid, thought Link. Now they know you're coming.

But backed off far enough to get a running start, sheathed his sword, and somersaulted up and over the barricade. The air on the other side tasted of saltpeter and charcoal and sulfur. He had time enough to get an impression of intense industry before the Gorons came rolling down the slope, tucked into armored balls, and he had to throw himself to the side to keep from being ridden down.

_Thump_ and a quarter of them were dead.

Zelda's cannons were arrayed in an iron horseshoe, a ballistic cul-de-sac in the road to Castle Town, and her gunners had not sat idle while their grander cousins turned Kakariko into an abattoir for men. The sound was like nothing Link had ever known.

Half-deaf and bleeding on the ground, he cast about for his friends and found nothing. Had he been abandoned? No. There were the bodies, torn apart by nailheads and grapeshot, sprawled in the filth where their strength had left them. Was it quick? Was there that consolation? Link heard a fugue of groans and knew that he had no consolations left to give.

He arose to unsteady feet and limped down the slope. Far below him, the Gorons had not stopped; hadn't even slowed down. It was not in their nature.

Farther, the Hylian gunners carefully reloaded, bringing a care and a caution to their task that was obscene in the face of the bloody leavings of the battlefield. They were not hurrying.

They had time.

* * *

Barnes of Kakariko threw himself flat on the ground in a sprawling tangle of protesting joints and the shot passed through the air above him. For ten minutes now they had been taking potshots in between sorties on the barricade and the cannons had taxed them sorely. Below, Quinn was laid out on the hard ground with a bloody mess at his throat and his dead porcelain eyes staring up at the sky. 

Three men. He had lost three men, two to the Hylian guns and one when he had lost his balance on the barricade and tumbled down the steep west bank, already screaming because he knew what was waiting for him at the bottom, and Zelda's calvary had cut him apart while Barnes watched.

Three men, and Theo had lost five, and two horses. Barnes knew it wasn't brilliant generalship on his part- just luck, and the tactical realities of their situation. He had the high ground and he knew enough about fighting to know not to let that slip through his fingers.

There was a staccato of hoofbeats and Barnes shouted "Now!" and his men lunged up over the top of the barricade with their bows and rocks and spears. Two seconds and the Hylian calvary came thundering up the pass, and the light off their sabers was a tangle of flame in the sun.

"Fire!" cried Barnes and his men fired. Bomb arrows screamed through the air. Some- most- went badly awry but one caught a rider clean in the chest and blew him off his horse and one exploded between a horse's legs and send the animal dying to the dust with his rider rolling frantically clear from death by trampling.

"Down!" screamed Barnes- not fast enough. A hail of crossbow bolts came down on them like a king's fury and when they cleared Jesse was dead on the barricade with his spear in his hands and feathers in his eye.

The last was too much for Barnes. He lunged over to pull the bolt free but was stopped by a serrated pain so intense he thought his arm had been torn free of his body. When he craned his neck to look there was an arrow in his shoulder- a sonofabitching arrow! It stung like a bastard and Barnes gritted his teeth.

"I can't be having with this," he said, and grabbed his spear against the inevitable counterattack.

* * *

The cannons all went off at once and another ten-twenty-thirty Gorons were dead or dying on their bellies with iron rations twisting in their guts. This time Link was ready for the sound of it. He advanced to a shambling run. The nearest gunner was fifty feet away. 

The Gorons were not stopping and Link could feel the Royal Bombard's panic like a salve on his skin. This time they reloaded hurriedly and poorly, all the time staring wild-eyed over their shoulders at the roostertails of dust their enemies raised in their madcap tumble down Kakariko Gorge. This time half of them turned to run because now the Gorons were within twenty feet and up close they looked _big_. This time the noise wasn't as shattering. At that range it didn't matter; the Gorons died anyways when the big guns went off. But not all of them.

They came out of their rolls as fluidly and instinctively as dancers and that was when the gunners who hadn't left understood that although the Gorons were down to fifty and five and must have known that the war was over, they personally were about to die in fantastic pain.

The closest to weapons the gunners carried were acid-etched stilettos for measuring charges and shot. Some of them drew them. Some of them turned to run. Some of them stood there and waited for the end they knew was coming for them.

The Gorons did not disappoint. What was left of Darbus' forces smashed through the Royal Bombards like an avalanche, crushing skulls and ribcages and tearing hapless bodies limb from limb. As Link watched one Goron who had three nails sticking out of his head just above the left eye seized a cannon- an entire cannon!- and used it for a club to beat a gunner into a bloody mess in the dirt.

The cannons were captured. There was time for a ragged cheer before a horn sounded a low, urgent call down the canyon and the walls shook with the impact of feet. Zelda's army was coming.

"Smash every gun," ordered Gor Coron, who was trying unsuccessfully to staunch the blood running in queasy rivulets down the side of his face. "We will retreat to where the canyon is narrower to make our stand. I do not think there is time to return to the barricade-"

"Where's Darbus?" asked someone, and Link, who knew, was silent.

_Darbus had taken half a pound of shot full in the face and fallen to one knee, clutching at what was left of his proud, savage features. He had died half-blind and mute and hideous._

_But before he had gone he had turned his one remaining eye, ultramarine and beautiful in the ruins of his skull, to where flames only he could see were dancing along his great right arm. Where had they come from? He had burned, once, and he remembered now how it felt- the pain, sharp and horribly distant, as he screamed and raged and hammered at the walls of his mind._

_Link had saved him- he knew that then if pride and amnesia had kept him from knowing it before. But he wouldn't save Kakariko. It was too late, wasn' t it? They had failed._

_He had been a fool. _

_Darbus the Strong, patriarch of the Gorons, died in the fetters he had forged for himself._

Silence.

"They're coming, Gor," said Link, a hint of worry in his voice. Gor Coron said nothing. The Goron who Link had bested shouldered his way to the front of the crowd.

"We can make it over the barricade if we run, brothers" he said, holding out his hands palm-up to show himself both reasonable and trustworthy. "Kakariko's fallen. There's nothing we can do about it now. We'll hold out from the mines-"

"-No," said Gor Coron. "We will make our last stand where the canyon is narrow, and hold them off for as long as there is strength left in our arms. We will not abandon our friends in Kakariko."

"The patriarch is dead, brother," said the Goron, regretfully. "We are all brothers now."

"Is it so?" replied the Gor, mild curiosity smoothing his voice. "Then let us be brothers. Let us stand as men."

"The patriarch is dead-"

"_I am the patriarchy,_" roared Gor Coron, and then the Queen's men were pouring into the canyon and the time for words was over.

* * *

The shell hit as Barnes was admiring the army of corpses he had made, that lay discarded in the grit and rough rock of Kakariko Gorge. By the time he heard the powder go off it was already too late to warn the others.

It was too bad, really, he thought in the split-second before the explosion. For a few minutes there it had looked as if they had a chance. But Hyrule always won out in the end.

Then the world was bright light and noise and vertigo as the blast had its way with the steep incline of the southern barricade, and Barnes pitched forward, bloodying his head as the wall of gravel and boulders that had seemed so solid gave way and poured forward in an igneous tide that swept the defenders off their feet.

When he got up, he was alone- the ones that were still alive, Barth and Cluny and the rest of them, were running off to Kakariko as fast as their bruised legs could carry them, which was stupid, because no matter how fast they could run they wouldn't outrun calvary-

Unless someone slowed them down.

Oh, hell, if Kakariko was going to die today he might as well be selfish enough to go out before her. Barnes dug himself out and staggered off to meet the harriers.

He didn't get very far before he ran into two foot soldiers, maybe unhorsed horsemen, and his feet didn't touch the ground as they hauled him off to meet with the Colonel.

Theo was in bad shape. Two buck privates held him up. His face, so florid an hour before, was white as a flour sack and there was blood on it. His mouth trembled. His eyes were glazed. But when Barnes came near enough they blinked twice and turned to look at him with a hatred that crawled on his skin like centipedes.

His right leg was missing below the knee.

All his life, as far as Barnes could remember, he had been afraid. Today he decided not to be. He smirked at Colonel Theo and said "Not as easy as you thought, hey, buddy?"

Colonel Theo, whey faced and dying, drew his saber in a blinding flash of steel and drove it into the bombmaker's chest and red-stained out the other side. Barnes of Kakariko died with a smile on his face.

And the Queen's calvary rode his body into the mud on their way to the mines.

* * *

Slowly, lovingly, the Gorons allowed themselves to be pushed back to where the canyon narrowed like a choked windpipe. In the meantime they punched until their knuckles were caked with blood, threw rocks hard enough to smash bones, tore horses apart with their bare hands. And fell back as the rock walls closed in. Head on Darunia's thick-necked children could take on the world.

But it didn't matter, because Link knew, as Zelda knew, that it didn't matter how strong they were. They would be tired while Zelda's reserve troops were still fresh, and when they got tired enough they would throw themselves on the spears for a moment of peace. They all would. At the end of the day all men wanted sleep.

Link had never been that tired, but he was tired now. There was still strength in the arms that held the sword and raised it and hacked down, splintering shields and tearing armor and killing, killing, relentlessly killing, and there were strength in the legs that sprang nimbly from point to point on the battlefield, performing the old dance as gracefully as they ever had.

Nevertheless, Link was tired. Not all battles were fought with sword and culverin.

_You've lost the war._

"Shut up," he muttered, swinging from the elbow in a flawless maneuver that lopped a soldier's head from his shoulders and sent him to his unfeeling knees.

_You've lost the war. She's not coming._

"Shut up!" demanded Link, feinting left and driving the tip of his blade into an unprotected gut.

_Let me in. Let me in, you son of a bitch._

"No," he whispered, and cannonfire boomed out from somewhere behind him. Somewhere to his right someone had gotten a Goron with three feet of ash-hafted spear and he fell to the ground choking on his own blood. Link stepped over, smashed the spear to flinders with the flat of his blade, and ended the spear-carrier with an overhand smash.

_She's dead. She's been dead for three days._

"Shut up!" screamed Link, raised his sword high in the air, and stopped. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh, my."

This was how it felt to look into the sun and see something dancing in the flames. He knew that now. This was how it felt to change the world.

Someone behind him. Who? Gor Coron.

"That cannon fire was from Kakariko!" he cried over the screams of the dying and the screams of the ones who had survived. "We have lost, brother! It is-"

"Shhh," said Link, comfortingly, and in the middle of the battlefield he sheathed his sword at his back and held out his arm.

The hawk alighted on it and Link stroked its mad little head with one calloused thumb. "My lovely," he murmured, "oh, my lovely one…"

"What is it?" said Gor Coron, haunted, and Link turned to him with a tender smile on his face.

"The war is over," he said.

From the mouth of the gorge there came a riot of horns.


	11. Recite In The Name Of Your Lord

_So here it is, tomorrow's chapter today, and let me tell you this was harder to write than anything in Prophecy or any of the other arcs bar none. But I think I finally got it pinned down.  
I'll leave you to it, then. Thanks for the incredible feedback on the last chapter- comments are pretty awesome. Ladies and gentlemen:_

* * *

Chapter Ten  
Recite In The Name Of Your Lord 

A Hylian footsoldier leapt into the breach and Gor Coron shoved him down with a hand like the wrong end of a shovel, drove a kick into his ribs that rattled them like ninepins and stole his breath away. A sword flashed to his left- near miss. His flailing elbow caught the man-at-arms in the throat, snapping his neck. Two down in five seconds and Link was just standing there, stroking his monstrous hawk and talking nonsense as the Brotherhood died at his feet in blood.

"The scholars knew, of course," said the Ordonian. "And I knew the scholars, or at least I knew where they went to get drunk of an evening."

Something was happening. Gor Coron gritted his teeth, narrowly dodged an arrow that would have stuck quivering in his shoulder. Link was still talking.

"The records they keep are actually quite good."

"Whose records?" ground out Gor Coron, raising his fists. A cavalier saw them, turned to run- too late. Zelda's army dealt unmercifully with deserters. A moment later he was choking on his own blood in the dirt and a short man with sergeant's stripes was stepping over his body with the cutlass that had done the work steaming in his hand.

"I promised him he'd eat well, poor fool," said Link, "and he'll bolt down meat today, raw and bleeding from the bodies of the war dead. I ask you, who had more right to know than I?"

"Know what?" asked Gor Coron. The sergeant darted forward like a fish against the current and brought his saber down.

* * *

They did not know who had come for them. They only knew that the horns were blowing at the mouth of Kakariko Gorge, and it was not their horns that blew. They only knew that something had gone wrong. 

The rear guard stumbled out of their tents cursing and moaning, strapping on their broadswords, swinging their quivers over their shoulders. Then the arrow storm came down on them in a flurry of barbed death and there was no more time for complaint- the time for complaint was over and done with, and the sixth part of their ranks was dead.

The first man to come fact to face with the enemy was Lieutenant Marue, who had been promoted to the officers corps after the war and had served with distinction in Zelda's army ever since. He had hacked a new door in the back wall of his tent with his saber and lunged out into the morning to confront the sons of bitches who had blindsided them and deal out even-handed death until the threat was resolved.

But when he saw them the shock froze in his veins and rooted him stock-still to the dusty ground.

"Why-" he asked, and did not have time to finish the sentence.

This is how Lieutenant Marue died: an iron weight like a battering ram stove in the side of his skull and sent his thoughts and lights spilling insensate into the cool air. He was dead before his body touched the ground.

* * *

The sergeant's blade came down. Gor Coron ducked and rolled and damn near lost half an inch of skin as he skidded out of the way. The man scowled and swung down and that was all the patriarch needed. His first blow shattered the saber like a stone going through a windowpane and his second blow shattered the man's ankle and when the sergeant dropped howling to the ground his third blow broke his spine and stilled his screams forever. 

"There was a wife," said Link. "The line of succession is complicated, but she was- is- a strong woman. And there's precedent, of course- you need only look at Midna."

Goron curses make a sound like distant explosions, firecrackers going off one by one in the pits of their stomachs. It took a moment for Link to realize what the noise was.

"Are you insane?" roared Coron.

"Don't you ever say that," spat Link, and the hawk exploded off his wrist and into the blue agave sky in a frenzy of wings. "I did what I had to do."

The line was moving, shoving against the Gorons like a red tide coming in from the sea, and the shouts of confusion were not all from the same side. Something was wrong, wrong, horribly wrong.

"What did you do?" asked the Goron, and Link appeared to consider this.

"I sent a message," he said. "After that it was only a matter of time."

* * *

They fought with their swords and with their long and graceful spears, and did their best to keep the interlopers back, throwing down their lives when necessary with courage and resignation to stem the flood before it swept the world away. They fought hand to hand, because there wasn't room for the archers, and when it came down to it they fought hand to fist and knee and elbow, because it was understood from the first moment that there would be no quarter asked for or given. 

They might as well have tried to dam Zora's River. The rebel army pushed irresistibly forward, and where it passed the bodies draped the ground like carelessly discarded angels.

This is how Lance-Corporal Tyrus died: just as the bells were tolling the hour in Castle Town, a barbed shaft struck him under the collarbone and when he lost his balance he was trampled to death by the retreating boots of his countrymen.

This is how Lance-Corporal Bones died: at two minutes past the hour, he parried two blows off his broadsword but did not parry the third, which sliced open his belly. He expired three minutes later, by which point he was well behind enemy lines.

This is how Sergeant Wrren died: at three minutes past the hour, the blade of a yataghan got past his guard and cut off his head at the neck.

* * *

The Gorons were falling back fast, now, losing ground moment by moment as the Hylians tried to break through the line with a new and furious abandon. As Link watched two Gorons fell before the slashing arsenal at the front ranks and were trampled. The choke point came rushing up behind them like an arrow loosed from the bow. 

Gor Coron grabbed his shoulders, squeezed down hard. "What did you do!" he screamed again. Link told him.

Flabbergasted, he let go. The din of battle rang distant in his ears as the familiar shape of his comfortable world shifted around him.

"They will call you Link the Traitor," he said.

"No," said Link, "they'll call me Link the Mad."

* * *

A curved sword, hilt wrapped in badly-cured coyote fur that stank of piss, swung down to cleave a Hylian helmet in half and sink deep into the skull behind it. It had been so damned easy that the interlopers were still reeling over their good fortune. 

The Ordonian's epistle had reached them within hours of its dispatch and four great chiefs had met in the Place of Loneliness to decide what was to be done, and by who, and how many. The debate had raged on until _she_ took up her axe and walked between the boulders that ringed the fire like a mouthful of giant teeth to join them.

Ten minutes later and three great chiefs emerged with a single will, and saddled their mounts, and rode off across the sands. And when a day had passed every one of them came back. And they didn't come alone.

An iron-headed mace crumpled a breastplate like cardboard and made a ruin of the pigeon chest behind it.

A day and a half marching across the grasslands with not so much as a token resistance. This time it was different. This time they wouldn't see it coming. This time, with the strength of the four nations united behind the inspired leadership of the Red, surely-The war-horde of the Bulbins surged up the canyon, and where they went they let out loud ululations and gutteral battle-cries and left broken bodies and oceans of blood in their wake. Caught off guard, the armies of Hylia trampled each other to be the first to retreat and fell like wheat before the onslaught that they had never seen coming.

Because who but a madman would have looked for help from _them?_

Malgrim's children had come down from the mountains, and Death rode with them.

* * *

They had reached the pass where the canyon was the narrowest, and there they held. Zelda's troops pressed against them like champagne against the cork, boiling and screaming and throwing themselves against the lines again and again to get away from what was hunting them. 

But they held, because there was nothing left to do but hold- the line, the gorge, Kakariko. And for every drop of Goron blood spilled the defenders took a sevenfold vengeance.

They were losing. But she was losing faster.

* * *

The calvary came galloping up the south road, five and forty outriders on their splendid horses, and made for the north and west. The Queen's army was the anvil; they, the hammer, and between them Gor Coron's tiny army, waiting for the forge. Every man of them understood, in that moment, the significance of their actions. It meant that they had won. It meant that the war was over. 

This is how Zelda's calvary died: the city had been burnt and ravaged by cannonfire, torn asunder by the Queen's artillery and littered with the refuse of panic. But the survivors, lacking a place to go, crouched yet amidst the rubble, and in their hands they clutched rocks blasted from the cliff wall by the very force that had ravaged their home. In another day it might have occurred to them to rebuild. For now, their teeth were bared in hatred and adrenaline poisoned their blood and they knew- knew- that the horsemen were coming through.

When the horsemen came through Kakariko surged to it's feet and stoned them with stones, denting armor and breaking teeth and shattering bones. Faced with an enemy they could not see, they panicked. Kakariko did not. The horseman was lucky who was struck dead or dumb by a thrown cobble before the townies got him.

* * *

One second- one single second- and Zelda's troops were drawing back like lips from teeth. A few of the more adventurous Gorons waded out to follow them, striking them dead on the spot with their fists and feet, but Gor Coron- Patriarch Coron, now- shouted them back into line with a drill sergeant's gruff authority. 

Out of the corner of his mouth, he said "What is going to happen now, brother?"

"And why should you believe me when I tell you?" asked Link, humorously, his tunic caked with dust.

Gor Coron, whose face was a mask of blood, shrugged massive shoulders. "You have always been right before." And Link laughed at that- laughed and laughed and laughed.

"She's going to surrender," said the Ordonian a minute later, wiping his eyes with filthy fingers. "Her envoy will be along presently, I expect- not Barbarossa, I killed Barbarossa. Sit tight, Coron, my brother, my patriarch. It's all over now."

Coron's scowl spread across his face like ink. "I do not see why-"

"Oh, goddesses," breathed Link intently. "Will you stop _bothering_ me?"

Silence.

"There's nothing left for her here," said Link. "Can you understand what it must be like to be cornered so thoroughly that you'd have to dig your way out with your shoulder blades to get away? That's where she is now. The game is over and she's lost it."

Someone was coming out of the dust. The Ordonian watched them carefully and went on.

"Some would choose to reject it, but Zelda will no more end her life than I would. We do not decide to live or not to live- something in us forbids it. So her only choice is who to lose to, and that isn't really a choice at all, because the warlord's woman hates her even more than she hates me and brother, she hates me."

"What will happen when we accept her surrender?" asked Coron, and Link shook his head.

"Hard to say," he said. "There's the Bulbins to be dealt with but they've gotten what they came here for and they know it. They'll raid the western provinces unopposed for twenty years if they play their cards right. Hyrule is over."

"Who is that?"

It was Ralis. The boy king plodded out of the dust with a gloom about him that the golden afternoon light did not soften.

"'hoy, fisherman," said Link. "Have you come on the Queen's business?"

"You shouldn't have won," said Ralis hopelessly. Then, "Was it you who called them?"

"Yes," said Link. "It was me who called them. She sent you?"

Ralis sighed. "She'd see you- you and you alone- in her coach and four. She's going to surrender."

"I know," said Link gently. "It's almost over now." And started walking.

"Link," called Coron.

"Yes, patriarch?" said Link, without looking back.

"What happens now?"

Link didn't bother to answer him.

* * *

The soldiers parted before them as they walked, dragging the wounded into the shade and retiring to the sides of the road to comfort themselves with drink and medicine and the sweet nectar of hatred. Somewhere further along the canyon the rear guard had finally managed to halt the Bulbin offensive, but the screams and the clatter and the din of battle were still audible on the faint breeze that came from the West. Even in that last extremity it did not occur to Link to fear treachery. He was their man, whether they had rejected him or not, and here and now no one would raise a hand against him.

"She was right, you know," said Ralis. Link shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he replied.

"How can you possibly believe that?" demanded the Zora King. Link said nothing. He kept walking.

Zelda stood in the open door of her carriage with a face as placid as Hyrule Field. She turned and disappeared into the dimness without a word.

Link followed her, and-

_"I surrender," said the Queen of Hyrule. "Get me out of this and it's over, now and forever- no more war, no more modernization, no more Villanova. You know I'm right but the hour is growing late. Get me out of this and things can go back to the way they were."_

_Link the Mad grinned his grin and shook his head. "No," he sang, "No, no, a thousand times no." And he left her there. And he left her there._

_This is how Zelda died:_

_In the next six hours the Bulbins destroyed the Army of Hyrule down almost to the last man. Only those few soldiers who made it over the barricade and defected to Kakariko survived the slaughter._

_The Queen was captured almost immediately, and shut up inside her carriage with guards at every corner. From the dimly cushioned interior of her fragrant prison Zelda could hear them killing the coachman._

_They came for her at sunset, and dragged her to the stones of the barricade, and forced her to her knees before the warlord's woman. Zelda looked up into those glowing eyes and knew in that moment that the word would go on without her. She knew in that moment that she was about to be-_

_-left behind._

_Mathilde the Red brought the axe down herself and slipped out of the canyon at the head of her husband's army with a minimum of fanfare, leaving the Queen's body behind her._

_Two days later her army sacked Castle Town, killing and rapine and burning indiscriminately and taking fivescore slaves and many treasures beside, for such was the fate of the vanquished in those dark days._

_When Link rode in he found them cold and leaderless. And he put out the fires, and he hanged the looters from every tree in the city, and he ordered the massive doors of the city swung shut for the first time in half a century, for the safety of his people. The sound they made when they closed was deep and final and went on for a long long time._

_Link the Mad presided over the ruins for forty years._

_But this did not happen, because_

Midna was sitting on a cushion in the dusky light of the carriage, Midna, with the light on her face and a smirk that said _You thought I was dead? _Really_, Link? You really thought I was dead? Poor boy- you're just not very smart, are you? But don't worry about it. I'm here, and I'm clever enough for the both of us._

_My wolf. Mine._

There was a lump in his throat and he swallowed down. "Hey, imp," he said in greeting.

"Hey, Link," said Midna, kicking her feet idly. "Your house burned down."

"I heard," said Link.

"I always thought that you were going to burn your house down," said Midna. "I always thought there was going to be toast involved. Has your cooking improved since Ordon?"

Link blinked back tears. "No, not really," he said. "That you, Midna?"

"What a question," said the imp. "You know anyone else this beautiful?"

He laughed, then, and for the first time in days it felt right.

"I surrender," said Zelda, and all the sudden nothing was right anymore because the bottom had dropped out of the world and he was falling, falling, falling into the darkness.

_No, no, a thousand times no_ and he could feel the words bubbling up in his throat. The other was going to have his way after all, and how could he ever have thought he had won? He was going to be King, King hereafter, and who would watch over his benighted country when the hero sat on the cold throne at twilight?

Midna flipped off of the cushion and into the air with righteous indignation flashing in her eyes like the narrow beam of a lighthouse. "You think that ends it?" she said. "Do you think that's ever going to be enough?"

_No,_ thought Link. _No, it won't be, will it?_

"It's not enough to give in. You have to set things right."

_Set things right,_ thought Link, and then he was

_down on the floor of the coach with the madman's hands hot and sour on his throat and the madman's eyes burning coldly down on him. The air was thick as treacle and color was leaching out of the world, turning Midna and Zelda and Ralis into statues and bringing the twisted face, the tangled hair, the ermine robes of the madman into stark relief._

_"What do you think this changes?" hissed the madman. "Nothing, that's what- she's lost and she's afraid of what comes next. Do what has to be done!"_

No,_ thought Link, and the madman's hands clenched down tight._

_"It doesn't matter, anyways," he said. "You've lost. The widow will have her and I'll have you and we'll have the throne together. Hyrule is mine, mine, mine. Finally-"_

_Something flickered across his face. "-finally I'll set things right. You'll see," he said, choking the wolf to death. "yes, you'll see. I'll put everything the way it's supposed to be. She can't break the mirror, you know. Not this time. And everything's going to be fine, everything's going to be fine, everything's going to be _just fine-_"_

_Mine, snarled the wolf, and the madman's face collapsed like a rotten pumpkin._

_"How-" he whispered, and Link's paws were on his wrists, pulling with irresistible force._

_(You told me she was _dead

_"Let go of me. Let _go_ of me!"_

_(You're a liar and you've always been a liar.)_

_"Let me go! I'm the real one! Me!" Fingers tightened in shaggy fur- but whose fingers were these, and whose fur?_

_(She's alive, you son of a bitch, and _I don't have to make your mistakes.

_"No, no," (no, no- stop it! Stop that!)_

_"Stop what?" said Link._

_(Stop- that! Goddesses, what are you doing-)_

_I know how it feels to take a shit on all fours, and I know how raw meat tastes-_

_"You did it yourself. Din's love, you did it yourself. In this world as in the next."_

_(All I wanted to do was make things right.)_

_-and I know how godawful wrong it feels not to have her on your back, because I was here first, I was here first, I was here-_

_"They were," said Link, drawing his sword. "They were right all along. I've been a fool but I'm not going to be a fool anymore- goddesses help me, I don't want to be a fool anymore."_

_(Are you going to kill me-? You can't kill me. You can't. You- no. No no no no _no_-)_

_I was here first-_

_"No. I'm not going to kill you," said Link, and the voice fell silent._

_(What will I do?)_

_"Be a wolf," said Link, "with a wolf's appetites and a wolf's ambitions. Walk the world a time and remember how it was, and mourn what you've lost if that's what your heart commands. Only remember."_

_Remember her. Remember us. Remember all of it-_

_"You have not lost, wolf- not yet. I know you didn't kill her. There's still time."_

_Slowly, irrevocably, color was coming back into the world._

_(It's too late,) said the wolf. (Even if I didn't- it's too late.)_

_"Too late?" said Link, incredulously. "Too late? You're the hero!"_

_Silence._

_(Yes,) whispered the wolf, savoring the word. (Yes. Yes, I am. I had forgotten. Do you think she remembers me?)_

_"How could she not?"_

_(Yes. Perhaps-)_

_It fell silent._

_(And you. Where will you go?)_

_"To set things right," said Link._

"Link?" whispered Midna. "What the hell do you think you're doing? There's not much time left-"

"You win," said Link, and sat up. "It's over."

Silence reigned as Link got to his feet. "I'm sorry?" said Zelda frostily, and for the first time in days Link's teeth shone in the slow bleed of light from the candles.

"You win," said Link. "Modernization- yes. It's what Hyrule needs, isn't it? I told you that."

Zelda's face was a picture of confusion, Midna's of anger. Hope was dawning in Ralis's jade eyes.

"I'm not sure I understand," said Zelda, slowly. "You're coming over to my side?"

"Oh, sides," said Link, waving it off, "I don't know that I believe in them. But I won't stand in your way. No. You're the Queen, after all. It wouldn't be proper."

Zelda stood stock-still. "No," she breathed. "It wouldn't be, would it."

"What are you doing, Link?" asked Midna with a flicker of annoyance.

"You'll help me deal with the bulbins?"

"I'll do better than that," said Link, merrily. "I'll tell you how to beat them."

"Ah," said Zelda.

"But," said Link.

"_Ah_," said Zelda.

"But," said Link, "you'll have to do it the hard way."

Silence.

"I'm sorry?" said Zelda. Ralis was sitting straight up and Link winked at him.

"No more invasions," he said. "No more annexing provinces, and fealty is something you have to earn before it's given. You withdraw from Kakariko and you damn well pay for the repairs. And you call a vote in Ordon for vassalage to the Kingdom of Hyrule, although I wouldn't worry about that much- Bo was right, and anyways they loved Villanova, goddesses above know why."

"We would have won," said Zelda.

"But you didn't," said Link.

"It will take years," said Zelda. "Decades, even. I may not live to see Kakariko fall in under the Hylian banner because of what you did here today. It would have been better for them."

"But that choice is theirs to make," said Link. "Don't you see? It has to be. Or you're no queen."

"And if I refuse?"

Link shrugged. "I walk away. You can negotiate with the Bulbins if you like."

Zelda's mouth twisted bitterly.

"It would seem," she said, "that I have no choice."

"There's always a choice," said Link. "Always, always. There's always a choice and afterwards you live with the choices you made, or you don't live at all. That's life for you."

"You killed Barbarossa," said Zelda, and Link smiled sadly.

"So did you, lady," he said. "A thousand times over."

"So what happens now?" said Midna.

Zelda's map of Hyrule was spread over the wall of the carriage, every bit as creamy as marzipan, and Link stood in front of it with his hands folded behind his back. _My country,_ he thought.

"Do you know what I think?" he said to Zelda. "I think you think that I've served my purpose in the world. I think you resent how long I've stuck around after Ganon fell. That I kept on trying to save the world past the point where the world was threatened."

"Yes," said Zelda. "I did and I do."

Link half-smiled. "But you can't get rid of me, can you? I'm the hero, but at the end of the day that's not all I am."

"Then what are you?" asked Zelda, and frustration crept into her voice on mouse feet. "What are you supposed to be? You've ruined everything."

"I'm the conscience of Hyrule," said Link, and she sagged into her chair at what she heard in his voice. "That's what I'm supposed to be, me and the ones that came before me and the ones that came after- the dead ones and the ones being born. All of us, the living and the dead, standing on the outskirts asking for something better. Do you know, I think this time we might actually get our way?"

Zelda said nothing and Link laughed, rich and mellow and strong. "But it's your better world, Zelda, not mine. I'm only here to point the way. Will you do it?"

"Yes," said Zelda. "Yes, I will. But they'll hate me."

"Of course they will," said Link, and the smile dropped from his face. "You killed hundreds of people today that weren't meant to die and hundreds the day before that who should have been at home with their wives and mothers. You burned my house and sent Barbarossa after me. I should kill you for what you've done today."

"But you're not going to," said Zelda, and as she said it she finally understood. "Because I'm the best you have."

Link said nothing, only laughed. "C'mon, Midna," he said. "We're going home."

"Wait," said Zelda, half-rising. "The bulbins, you were going to tell me how to deal with the bulbins."

Link paused in the doorway, whispered something to Midna. The imp giggled and Link turned around.

"Who was it supposed to be, princess?" he asked.

Zelda didn't even stop to think about it. "It was supposed to be you."

Link laughed and turned to go. "Keep your word," said Zelda, harsh in the cramped coach, and the Ordonian smiled sadly.

"Don't you know?" he said. "You're going to deal with them the same way you dealt with me."

"And what is that?" asked Zelda.

"The hard way," said Link, and left.

He stepped out of the carriage and stood there on the top step, momentarily blinded by the noontide sun. Only when his light-flooded eyes adjusted was he able to see the carnage.

Kakariko Gorge was a slaughterhouse, packed wall to wall with the dead and those who had sent them there. The moans of the wounded, less than half of whom would live to see the sun go down, were the only sounds there were - save for the flapping wings and the guttural cries of the hawks, who would eat well today.

But for a moment, as Link stood there blinking his eyes, it didn't look like an abattoir and the corpses didn't look like corpses, sloughing off in the sun and the heat with flies thick as honey in the air about them. In that perfect moment of clarity- never to be replicated- all he saw was men and Gorons and bulbins lying head to foot and side by side, their weapons broken on the ground around them, at peace forever.

For a moment it looked like heaven.

"Link," hissed Midna beside him. "They're waiting for you."

And he understood her perfectly, looking out at that sea of upturned and multicolored faces- understood her with the rare and unspoken insight of lovers. All these soldiers, all these Gorons and Hylians and Bulbins, they were waiting for him to tell them what Zelda had said, no, they were waiting for him to tell them who had won, no, they were waiting for him to explain what had happened this day in words that they could understand; they were waiting for the coming of the prophet.

Link raised his sword above his head and every eye tracked it. The blade of the ancients was reflected in two hundred dying eyes.

"Hyrule united!" cried Link, and went home.


	12. Til We Have Built Jerusalem

_We're getting very close now to the end of things. Only one thing left to write this week, and that's the epilogue, which I have written up some notes for under the tentative title "Paradise". _

Check in then for the author's notes and such. For the moment I am eschewing sentimentality. Let me tell you that in this particular instance that is a damned hard thing to do.

Until then, ladies and gentlemen-

* * *

Chapter Eleven  
'Til We Have Built Jerusalem

Chapter Eleven'Til We Have Built Jerusalem 

Aliyah

They sat side by each beneath a spreading tree and watched the sun set, and only when their shadows were hopelessly entwined with the shadow that had passed into the world did they make to leave.

It was the hour when the two worlds were closest, tangled together like lovers, skin to skin, and the presence of Twilight was nearly palpable in the shivering air. Epona nickered softly from the darkness and when Link combed his fingers through the soft ruff between the horse's graceful ears he thought he saw- just for a moment- a sky like oil and perfume reflected in her soulful black eyes.

"So close," he murmured. "I don't understand how he could have forgotten how close it was."

"Was she beautiful?" asked Midna, wistfully. The imp straddled the saddle like a child learning to ride, and Link would have been worried if he didn't know she could fly- his horse had never been completely comfortable around Midna.

"Not so beautiful," he said, adjusting the reins. "She spoke to me, you know. After."

"I think," said Midna, "I think she came to me. But I can't remember what she said, or what she- _I_" she corrected "looked like. It's been a long time. And what did she say to you, this not-so-beautiful lady?"

"She said- she said-"

Link concentrated, shook his head, sighed.

"Nothing important. Anyway, she was wrong. You'd think that after all this time I'd have learned not to trust you."

That earned him a punch to the shoulder that stung like someone had gotten him with a slingshot and his hand shot reflexively to his arm. "_Ow_," he complained, and Midna's laugh was music in the darkness.

"Big baby," she said affectionately. Link glared at her.

"You shouldn't be able to _do_ that," he pointed out. "Din's love, you're a quarter my size!"

"Maybe you're just soft," volunteered the imp. "How was I wrong?"

Link went back to the reins, cursing Renado's unorthodox but extremely effective knots. "She said," he explained after a moment, "that she was a fool to think he could go back to the way he used to be. And I believed her, because I thought she knew him better than I did. But in the end she couldn't have known him as well as I did. She was right but she didn't know why."

"You're confusing me," said Midna, crossing her legs. "Well, no, I understand you perfectly, but you're probably confusing yourself. Why was she right?"

"Because the poor bastard never really changed at all."

"You're merciless."

"I'm accurate," corrected Link. "Link the Mad, he called himself, but he never really believed it even when the rest of the world did. I've seen madness and that isn't it. Madness is waking up in the morning and having to think, really _think_, about who you are. _He_ knew it all along. I tell you he never changed."

Midna flipped gracefully off Epona's saddle and hung suspended in the air. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Oh, hell," said Link, "because he's me. Isn't that so? He is me and I am him and we are us together. He did what he did and I would have done the same no matter how much I wish it wasn't so. Only one thing kept me from walking the road _he_ walked."

"What was that?"

"You came back," said Link, and there was nothing for Midna to say to that, or to the hungry gratitude in his voice that testified how very close he had come to madness.

They stood there in the twilight and watched as the stars came out, one by one until the field was a membrane of light. "Do you think they're up there?" asked Link, waving a distracted hand at the heavens.

"The goddesses?" asked Midna "Eee hee hee! Of course they are!"

"They're not so bad, you know," said Link.

"I know," said Midna."

"You lied to me," said Link, "when the dreams started. You told me you wouldn't have broken the mirror but I don't think that was true, was it." She was staring at him in a way that was never going to get old.

"Have you been _thinking_ about that?" she asked him, accusatorily.

"It eats at me," admitted Link. "Was it?"

"Of course I lied," Midna sputtered. "What else could I have done? It would have been safer for both of us if the mirror was broken!"

"You could have told me," said Link, and she scowled.

"You're not the only one who doesn't like to think about the choices you didn't have to make. Why are you so upset about this?"

"Why am I _upset_?" snarled the Ordonian. "You just told me you would have broken the only way back from the Twilight!"

"Yes!" shouted Midna. "But you never asked from what side!"

The echoes boomed out over the landscape. He stared at her for a moment.

Then he threw back his head and laughed with his eyes squeezed shut and his face aimed like a cannon up at the sky where the goddesses still gazed indulgently down at their children and the stars whorled crazily across the firmament. He laughed and laughed and laughed until his ribs were red-hot pokers and his throat was raw silk and the tears spilled down his face and caught the starlight in the tracks they left on his dusty skin.

"Are you done?" asked Midna after a while, very tetchily.

Link was lying on his back in the grass with his arms flung out and his fingers splayed, slick with sweat and panting with mirth. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

"Oh, goddesses, Midna," he said, weak but smiling, "I love you. I love them all."

"You're a fool," said Midna, fondly, "and you always will be. Now let's go home."

In the end they only got halfway.

* * *

Yerida

Life had been cruel to him, scourging him as it did with the whips of misfortune, branding him faithless, fatherless, lost.

Death had not been much kinder. Barnes of Kakariko had died with a smile on his face and gone down under the hoofs of Zelda's cavalry, who had trampled his body into the churned mud on the road to Kakariko.

But they were gentle to him now. Now they kissed the dust tenderly from his eyelids and washed out his dull brown hair in the holy spring-water at the head of the town, so it would grow the better in his last foxhole. Now they scrubbed the sour sweat from his skin, and perfumed it, and anointed him for the grave.

Now they pulled the door of the tavern from rusty hinges and laid him down on it. Six men carried him down to the graveyard, and a score followed. It was understood that although all the men who had fought and died on the barricade were heroes Barnes alone was martyr, because he had gone out alone to face the scarface Colonel and he had condemned himself by so doing. Saint Barnes of Kakariko, dying for what he believed in.

That was what they would remember, Renado told himself. They would remember him as hero and redeemer, savior and knight. Not the potbellied son of a bitch that he had been fond of calling himself. They wouldn't remember him as any mother's son. They wouldn't remember him as a boozer, a failed miner with a short fuse, a part-time coward and full time swindler who had never in his antebellum life taken responsibility for anything.

He tried to convince himself that this was better but somehow he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

In the graveyard the headstones were lined up neat as soldiers, and the shadows they cast were low mounds of alkaline soil. Some of them had names scratched with a knife into the rock and some of them didn't. Kakariko had been as much a madhouse before the war as after and they hadn't had time to put names to bodies before the vultures came and forced them to hide the dead under the ground, awaiting the judgment to come.

Someone cleared their throat and Renado glanced back at the tableau before him- the shallow grave, the tavern door, his best friend in a suit of clothes he had never worn. Barnes' afterlife was doomed to ambiguity. The stories they would tell about him would paint him as good or evil and miss the mark of the man who stood between.

"We are gathered here today," said the shaman, shifting uncomfortably in his leather smock and glancing down at the pages of his book of ceremonies, "to see to the burial of our brother Barnes, who lived forty years in Kakariko and died courageously to defend her honor. We commit his body to the red earth to which all men at length return, and, trusting as we do in the endurance of the spirit, commit his soul to the world…"

Renado's voice trailed off. When it came back there was an edge to it that could cut you like a knife.

"Oh," said the shaman, "to hell with _this_."

Gasps forced their way through clenched jaws as he tossed the prayer book into the hole. It landed with a muffled _thump_ on the bomb-maker's wasted chest and slid down the declivity of his ribs until it stopped with its spine against the damp wall of the grave. Renado paid no mind to his parishioner's shock. He began talking, animated, energized, his hands describing mystic patterns in the dry air.

He said:

"Two days ago a friend of mine told me a story that I couldn't believe because it meant that everything I had known in my life was lunacy and there were worlds beyond this world that my fathers did not dare to dream of. And faced with two irreconcilable pictures of the world I chose the one that my fathers would have damned for heresy. There are things in this world that neither you or I could possibly understand. Talk about spirits? I'll tell you this much: there is a world after this one. We go on. But neither you or I knows how or why or where and if any man does it's the one lying in this grave."

"He was my friend and I'm here to tell you he was a son of a bitch and never denied it. Back before the monsters I would find him passed out in a gutter two nights a week. He charged outrageously for his bombs and I suspect he defrauded the Hylian treasury by somewhere in the vicinity of five hundred rupees in the Bulbin War. He could be as callous a man as you could ever hope to meet. But he had a warmth to him you couldn't deny and if he liked you well enough he would go out of his way to make you happy and he never had a bad word for anyone."

"So he wasn't a hero and he wasn't a devil. He was just a man. And when men die we put them in the ground to rot and that's that, because all things that are born die and there's nothing any of us can do to change that. But we won't forget him, because when men die we do our damnedest to remember who they were, so that they'll think of us kindly when it's our turn. It's all there is."

"We therefore commit his body to the red earth to which all men return, and as for the soul I can't tell you what happens next. But I can tell you that that isn't Barnes in that hole. Whatever made him Barnes is somewhere else. Wherever it is I hope that the beer is cold and there's no more war. He deserves it. Thank you all."

Leather creaked as he turned to go. Behind him, the gravedigger called out "Mister Renado! Your book of words!"

"Just fill in the damn hole," said the shaman.

Down the road, they were sharing out the last of the cornmeal and the valley rang out to the crash of hammers and the flapping of sheets as the survivors put their world back together from the ruins of what had gone before. It wasn't pretty but it might just have been beautiful, and it wasn't nice, but that didn't matter. The paint was garish, the nails were bent, the beer was piss and a brisk breeze would sent every ramshackle tent puddling to the ground but even so it was, by and large, paradise.

It was all there was.

_Going home,_ thought Renado, and bit into the flavorful pith of a Kakariko pepper.

* * *

Sanhedrin

Coron's feet skidded in the loose sand the umpires had strewn across the ring and he gritted his teeth in exertion as his opponent forced him back three inches six inches nine inches closer to the chalk line that marked the edges of the world. This one would take watching. Finally he broke his opponent's grip and took one dangerous step back to give himself room to maneuver. They circled each other warily.

The Patriarchy had come close to total defeat on the killing grounds of Kakariko Gorge. There were fewer Gorons now in Darunia's Hall and far too many dead under the lava where they had been planting their brothers for so long that it was probably more Goron than rock now. He had taken the mantle of leadership sorrowfully and at a time where sorrow was the easiest emotion for the brothers to name.

Coron's opponent shot out a ponderous arm to shove him; the patriarch stepped artfully to one side, seized his rival's meaty shoulders playfully, and forced him backwards until his heels were almost touching the line. The spectators sighed in joint satisfaction when their brother managed at the last minute to struggle free and sidestep out of harm's way. Long fights were the best fights.

Despite the Queen's best efforts, however, the Patriarchy lived on, and if there were fewer of them then the ones who were left were the canniest. Natural selection was pushing the race away from fat, childish tribesman. In a thousand years they would be a race of businessmen, slender and with only vestigial formations to mark them for the mountains they had once been. They could wait. And in the meantime they would make many young and teach them the lessons they had learned in blood and terror so that the next time they would not be unprepared.

A cry of surprise. The Patriarch had been faster yet again, and when the brother had stepped out of harm's way he had really been stepping directly into it. Coron seized him and forced him backwards until only the soles of his feet were in the ring, and there they stood, motionless and trembling in the grip of the forces that grappled back and forth in the relentless contest for dominance.

Coron's head was full of figures and plans, intricate as a clockwork man and no less revolutionary. Zelda had killed Darbus but Coron wouldn't raise the price of metal; would, instead, hold it stable past the point where in the ordinary course of things he would have been expected to raise it. At the same time he would allow Goron metal goods to filter into the Hylian markets, stimulating demand for cunning machines and compass-stones until they started building their own factories and Zelda was indebted to him without Coron's ever having to raise his hand against her.

Goron domination of the market, like evolution: it was only a matter of time.

His opponent took one heavy step forward and found that gravity was no longer working in his favor. With a cry of despair, he toppled backwards and slid down the steps. When his massive body hit the ground it raised a zephyr of dust.

Cheers rang out until Coron reached out a hand to help his opponent up. The Goron took it gratefully and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He did not release the hand but pumped it, once, in congratulations.

He said "Good game, Father."

* * *

Diaspora

The carriage had been a wedding present from the Lord Mayor of Riverbed- a fat old pederast who her father had taught her to respect and experience had taught her to fear for a weathervane. Zelda had left her childhood behind long ago, but all the same it had been hard not to delight in the cunning little carriage with it's thousand intricate details- frosted glass and velvet and secret compartments that spring open at a touch.

It had been a chest of wonders but it felt old, now; felt like waterstained silk, wood the worms had got to. The velvet, supple under her fingers, was strained and puckered at the seams. The brilliant polish of the panelling was a streaked dull luster like a smudged handprint. 'You win,' he had said, but Zelda knew she had lost, and when the Lord Mayor heard she would lose Riverbed too. The fat man was ambitious and canny enough not to hitch his wagon to a falling star.

_What's Riverbed?_ whispered her heart. _Nothing but a bank town where the forges never sleep, a tired ten thousand who don't like their Mayor any more than you do. Two weeks to lick your wounds and make sure it's your side of the story they remember, and then march west. With five hundred men at most the city will be yours within an hour and the Mayor will hang for a traitor- complicit, perhaps, with the bulbins? Then, from Riverbed-_

No. Link would stop her. It didn't matter that the fat man didn't deserve to rule, or that it was none of his business. The Ordonian would always side with a petty tyrant over a grand one.

He had laughed at her, and she had let him. It would never be the same again.

"Highness?" said the gravelly, skeptical voice and Zelda came back to the moment because matters required her attention. She blinked and she was back in the carriage again, with Mathilde the Red, who had conquered, sitting in the plush chair across from her.

The warlord's woman was in that brief bleak season that passes for middle age among the Bulbins- too young to die, too old to bear children. Her fat arms rested on the edge of the table with her hands, delicate and ringed, folded protectively over her elbows. Her face was like a clot of dough, her eyes two coals smoldering in a banked fire. Hairless and grim, only the curves beneath the fishmail coat she showed no signs of taking off marked her as a woman.

Zelda had hated her on sight. But she was determined to be the better man.

"You speak Hylian well," she offered.

Mathilde's face remained impassive. "When I was eight I was kidnapped by a pack of worthless traders who wanted to go on crossing the desert after the four tribes forbade it. It was made known that it was death for any human caught in the Place of Loneliness. Perhaps they thought that it would protect them."

The question rose unbidden in Zelda's throat. "And did it?"

Mathilde shrugged. "For a time."

"Why did you come?" asked the Queen, honestly curious. "Link killed your husband."

"You, of course," said the warlord's woman, not without a hint of irony, "are blameless."

"I had not known that your people could be… forgiving."

"I have never forgiven anyone in my life," said Mathilde. "We are here to discuss the terms of your surrender."

Zelda's face was carefully dispassionate. "Of course."

"I will require a ransom of fifteen thousand rupees in war reparations, to be paid in full in fifty rupee pieces-"

"You'll have it. The details are not important."

"You believe that, of course. It's why you lost. You will tell me everything you know about the Ordonian."

Zelda almost smiled. "That's a fool's error," she said. "Take it from someone who knows. He's-"

There was a slight pause and the Queen chuckled. "-he's bigger than both of us," she finished. How could she ever claim she hadn't been warned?

"Nevertheless," said Mathilde, "you will tell me."

"I will," said Zelda, "would you get down to it, please? The sanctions or the forfeitures or whatever it was that made it worth it for you to come down out of the mountains. What is it that you require- land? You will observe the map. Alter your borders as you see fit and then we can negotiate. Do you want titles? Recognition? I can give you these things. The war is over but I remain Queen of Hyrule, and I have no patience for trifles."

"I'm not here for trifles," said Mathilde.

"Then what?" demanded the Queen of Hyrule. "What is it that you want?"

The inkwell had been a wedding present from the children of Castle Town and the blue-black dye sloshed against the cut-glass walls as Mathilde the Red picked it up. The quill pen, plucked from a swan's wing and presented to her by the Vicar of Fleet, quivered when the shapely drab-olive fingers of the warlord's woman plucked it from where it was stuck in a ceramic bowl of uncooked Ordonian rice.

"What are you doing-" began Zelda and the warlord's woman shushed her almost lovingly. She dashed the pen into the ink, drew it dripping from the pot. Walked over to the map. Marred the creamy purity of the parchment with two words in a scrawled and childish hand.

"They'll kill you," said Zelda eventually. "You can't tell me that they knew what they were fighting for."

Mathilde rolled her massive shoulders back in a shrug. "I think," she said, "that we are not so very different."

Zelda blinked. "Aren't we?" she asked carefully.

"No," said Mathilde. "Both of us want what's best for our people. And both of us know that from time to time the people have to be… reminded."

"That's so," said Zelda. The wistfulness in the bulbin's eyes as she looked at the map was remarkable.

"My people," she said, "have forgotten themselves. They've heard the old lies repeated so often that they don't remember what truth is anymore. But the truths we used to know are still there. We were not always barbarians. And sooner or later my people will remember what they are."

Zelda narrowed her eyes. "And what is that?"

"Civilization," said Mathilde, and almost smiled. "Will you help me?"

The Queen nodded. "Of course," she said.

"Good," said Mathilde, and then: "His name was Malgrim. Malgrim the Invincible. When he died all the tribes mourned for him. I have never forgiven anyone in my life, princess. Tell the Ordonian bastard that, when you see him, and remember it yourself. We will not be reconciled."

Long after she was gone Zelda sat in the carriage, tracking the passage of imaginary armies across her paper kingdom. They carried no swords, these armies, and dragged no guns behind them. They did not have banners. Nevertheless, they were named.

This one was Modernity. This one, creeping across the ersatz borders and painted meridians, was Progress. Here was Justice, fivescore guerillas hiding in the trees. Here was Equality, outnumbered but marching in perfect lockstep. Their actions, insignificant to the casual eye, were, Zelda realized, related. There was meaning here, she was sure of it. After a while she became aware that they were all marching in the same direction.

This was an army too. Its name was Civilization.

When Ralis found her she was waiting for him as patiently as if he had been summoned.

"Ralis," she said, and rode over him as he opened his mouth to reply. "Have a letter drafted to the Lord Mayor of Riverside canceling all Army contracts forthwith and breaking our business ties with the Convocation of Burghers."

"Are we invading Riverside?" asked Ralis, appalled. Zelda held up an absentminded hand to stop him.

"Then have a second letter drafter countermanding the first letter and emboss it with the Royal Seal of Hyrule. Offer no explanation or apology."

"I don't-"

"The Lord Mayor," said Zelda, "needs to be reminded where his loyalties lie and exactly how much he stands to lose by striking out on his own. He's accountable for his actions, as are we all. He'll buckle."

Ralis drew himself up. "I am the King, you know," he said, indignant.

Zelda turned around in her chair and stared mischievously at him until he deflated. "Anything else?" he said, and if it was intended sarcastically the Queen took no notice of it.

"Send word to Villanova and the Vicar of Fleet that we'll be holding election in one week's time to decide whether Ordon should be a vassal province of Hyrule. And get a message hawk to the Chamberlain- he's to meet me as soon as we reach Castle Town with a pot of coffee and the financial register. I think I could love you, you know."

"What?" said Ralis, flustered. "Should I call the physician? There's loads of doctors around, it really would be no trouble at all-"

"If I were but a little wiser-" said Zelda, and stopped. "Things are going to be different now, Ralis."

"Are they?" asked the King of Zora. "Good."

And as Ralis hurried off to do the world's work it occurred to Zelda that it was just possible that she had won after all, that anything could still happen, that for all her vengeance it was possible that she could be reconciled to Mathilde- possible that Mathilde, for all her vengeance, still hoped to be reconciled.

Two words in a childish scrawl. By now the ink was very nearly dry.

GERVDO PROVINCE

* * *

_A note on the headings of the various parts- all of these are Hebrew words except for the last, which is Greek co-opted and pressed into the service of Jewish culture. Aliyah is ascension, the return to Israel. Yerida is descent, a going-away. Sanhedrin is a conclave of judges, and the diaspora is all the Jews living outside the Holy Land. No, I did not know any of these off the top of my head other than the last one. God's love on Wikipedia._Diaspora 


	13. Paradise

_I'm only writing one set of author's notes for the two sites my stories appear on, so you might see some unfamiliar names. Bear with me, please. _

There are a lot of people I want to thank- people without whom this story wouldn't exist, or at least wouldn't exist in its current form. First off I'd like to thank my girlfriend of- sweet Jesus, two years? Two years- Cutpurse, for patiently waiting to (read: almost killing me at several points before I let her) read the first two arcs- mostly because I didn't know how she'd take my writing Link/imp fanfiction- and for the God damned incredible banners she made for the second and third arcs, and for reading more than half of Prophecy before anyone else did just so I would have someone to tell me it was good enough to put up.

Um. I love you.

I've made some friends through this that I would not have made otherwise. I'd like to thank Titanium Phoenix for late-night distractions, Chaotic Serenity for wise counsel and very good advice, only about half of which I ended up following, and Dust Traveler for being, more or less, my hero.

I want to thank Master GFX for keeping the tradition alive,

and Cardinair for giving me my first real review and being an all-around great guy,

and Wiseduck- he knows why-

and Razzek for the fanart and also for being sad for Barnes,

and everyone who reviewed me- you all know who you are. I have stood on the shoulders of giants.

Without the epilogue, and including the first two arcs, what I am sitting on here is about one hundred and eighty seven pages of size 12 Times New Roman. It is not egotism for me to say that the last, say, ten pages are much better than the first, because the first were not in fact very good. At the very least it's been a learning experience.

Nevertheless I'm proud. Looking back on one hundred and eighty seven pages I feel like I've accomplished something here. It sure as hell isn't going to outlive me but tonight I feel as if I could recite it by heart and that's certainly something. I've known for a long time I wanted to be a writer but like every young writer I know I have asked myself on many dark nights if I had the patience- not the talent, not the drive, but the sheer bloody patience- necessary to turn fiction into a profession.

I still don't know about the talent and I still don't know about the drive, but as for the patience one hundred and eighty seven pages say hell yes.

I think I might just be able to bring this thing in in under a page. Thank you all and God bless.

* * *

Epilogue  
Paradise

"Hey, Midna."

"Yes?"

"Let's get married."

_And there were battles- Goddesses, of course there were battles. The warlord's woman never forgave him. There was evil, crying crocodile tears in the forsaken wastes at the north of the world. There were battles and he fought them until the day he died. _

And there were hard times. There were nights so long they might have been days in the lives of children. There were moonless nights so dark it seemed the sun would never rise, and sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't.

And there was blood on the ground when the war came, and afterwards there were crows- millions of crows, so many that they blotted out the sun with their wings. And there was death, because death had always been there, grinning at the gates of the carnival, wearing the faces of people you had known, once, a long time ago. One by one the reveler took them all away- all his friends, all his old friends. And sometimes it was his hands that took them away.

And there were times when each believed the other to be dead. Those were the worst times.

Renado of Kakariko, who had fashioned a new philosophy from the bones of the old order, awoke at twilight to the soft strut of knuckles across the doors of his sanctuary and rolled out of bed still rubbing the cotton from his eyes.

The knocking continued as he shrugged his leather smock over his head, hastily and unsuccessfully tried to tame his dark thicket of hair with the palm of one hand. "Coming, coming," he muttered. Reached for his book of words before he remembered the clammy hole where he had left it.

"Damn," he said, and opened the door. "Is there something the matter?" he asked reflexively, and then stood stock-still on the top step, looking down on them.

She was two feet tall and shapely for an imp- the gentle rise of a belly, arms and legs tapering to star-shaped hands and delicate feet, naked in the dying light of the vespers save for what might have been fur and might have been skin and for a moment the shaman wanted to touch her and solve the mystery with a hunger sharper than his life had ever known.

Her arms and legs were manacled in light and her eye was gold and pomegranate and tangerine. Stone crowned her and bound her and her smile was the curve of a knife, and one tooth was a fang, and she was floating- floating!- three feet above the ground.

He heard Link's quick voice from somewhere in the periphery. "A good evening to you, Renado," said the Ordonian. "This is the imp you didn't find for me the other night but don't worry, because in the end everything worked out for the best-"

And all Renado could think of to say was "Hello."

"Eee hee hee!" laughed Midna.

_But even so there was not a day that went by that they were not amazed at how much they had. Not a day went by that they weren't grateful for. _

There were battles and they fought them together, back to back- the two most suspicious characters in Hyrule, learning to trust each other, every day. There were evils, petty evils and grand ones, lurking behind trees and enthroned in palaces of brass. They vanquished them and slew them.

They walked roads and climbed mountains and swam rivers and they never stayed in one place long enough for his boots to get dusty but they watched the sun go down every damned night and they never felt like strangers anywhere they went.

They ate fish pulled straight from the mountain streams, mushrooms fried in butter, loaves of stale bread and hunks of cheese hard as rock, and by the time he learned to make a perfect slice of toast they had both had the taste of char in their mouths long enough to have gotten used to it and she pouted at him until he went back and burned it properly.

There was a goodness here that they were both aware of. There was a light about them that stood fast against the encroaching shadow of the world.

"I don't know if I can do this," said Renado, suddenly. Link raised one golden eyebrow in polite incomprehension.

"Is it that she's an imp?" he asked. "Because, you know, I _do_ have a sword." Midna swatted him on the back of his head. Renado stood there, looking worried.

"No," he said, "it's not that, it's…"

He raised his hands, lowered them again. "I buried Barnes," he said, softly, "and I left my book of prayers in his grave. What you told me, that day in the spring… what I'm seeing now… everything I ever knew was wrong. And I gave up… I gave up so much to be the man I was a week ago. You want me to perform this ceremony, but I don't know that I have the authority."

Link nodded gently. "Say it again," he said, and the shaman blinked.

"I don't know that I-"

"No, I understand," said Link. "I meant the part before that." This time Renado had to think about it.

"You… asked me," he said slowly, "to-"

"You have the authority," said Link. "Now listen to me." And the shaman listened.

_This is how Link died: the warlord's woman caught up to him in the end. _

Or: he broke his back falling off of a ladder.

Or: Midna went first, seventy years to the day after Link drove the Twilight from Ordonna province, and he held her hand as her last breath rattled out of her small body, carrying something with it vaster than the pokey rooms where the Hero of the Realms lived out his last days and lonelier, and she died there with a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth.

The next day and the next day and the next he toiled from dawn to dusk in the wheat fields, doing the work of a younger man and speaking to nobody, and if the Ordonians noticed the way the tears rolled down his face and how he smiled brokenly through them, if the Ordonians heard his muffled sobs or heard him talking to her in his old man's voice- if the Ordonians know who listened for his words the thickness of a shadow away- then they said nothing, because it was understood that a debt was owed, even if nobody could remember precisely what the terms had been, or why.

And then on the third night he dragged his weary bones from his narrow bed and shuffled to the door, and opened it, and stepped out into the fog. He had thought for a moment that he had heard something outside- an army, perhaps- but a moment's consideration showed that there was no army here.

He felt light, ephemeral, and he did not notice the cold air's sting on his bare arms. The sensation was one he had not experienced for fifty years, and after a moment's consideration he recognized it for what it was:

It was something beginning. It was an adventure.

Link looked down just in time to see the Triforce fade out, and as he looked at the back of his hand naked for the first time in his life he laughed and laughed until the tears spilled down his cheeks, and when Ilia found him in the morning he was stone dead with his back against the door.

Any of these could be true, or all of them, or none of them. Prophecy has left these lands.

"What happens after we die?" asked Link, and Renado shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know anymore."

"You do know," said Link. "You just don't know why."

"We go on," said Renado. "I think. Somehow we go on. But what good does that do anyone to know? Why should anybody care about the opinions of a washed-up old shaman who doesn't believe anything worth preaching about?"

"Why should you care what anyone believes?" asked Midna, honestly curious, and Link smiled, because Midna was so very often right.

"Because without a flock, what am I?" returned Renado.

"A righteous man," said Link, "and damn the lot of them if they don't agree. Do we go on?"

"Yes."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yes!"

The Ordonian took a step forward and seized the shaman by the shoulders. Renado did not resist as Link drew him close. He was fascinated by the banking fires in the Ordonian's eyes.

"And if all Hyrule stood up in arms against you," he said quietly, "if all Hyrule screamed with one voice that there was nothing beyond the fifty or sixty years the Goddesses have allotted to us but a blackness and a monumental void, what would you say then, Renado? What would you say to that?"

"Nothing," whispered Renado. "But they would go on regardless." Link was shaking his head, slowly, marvelingly.

"And you ask yourself," he wondered aloud, "if you have the _authority_."

He let go of Renado and turned his face away.

_And there were dreams. _

Of course there were dreams- that didn't change. He had been dreaming all his life. But whatever had inspired him those few weeks, whatever song he had been singing, he sang no more thereafter.

Gradually he learned not to question the meaning of his dreams, learned to accept that while sometimes they came true, often they did not. Slowly he remembered what even infants know- that the things you see in the night are smoke and embers. They can't hurt you. But he could never bring himself to quite believe it.

Yet the visions, if that was what they had been, had ended- there was no denying it. He saw the wolf in his dreams from time to time until the day he died, but he did not see what the wolf was doing, was not privy to its lupine machinations. They talked, when they talked, of idle things. They did not talk about Kakariko. They did not talk about the future.

He had known things in those Kakariko days that he had no business knowing. Only half of it had been guesswork. But he did not miss the prophecy, or rather tried not to miss it. Sometimes he would whisper to himself in the night. He would say:

Will Zelda live to see her flag flying above Kakariko?

He would say:

Where is the warlord's woman now, and what would she have of me?

And of course there were no answers for him. All the same, it continued to surprise him long past the point where he should have gotten used to the not-knowing.

"Do you love her?" said Renado, and tried not to be too satisfied when Link frowned in bewilderment.

"I had understood," he said carefully, "that there was a bit more ceremony involved."

"They're just words," said Renado. "They don't mean anything much. I may not know much anymore but that's something I can promise you. The words aren't important and never have been. It's the truths that matter. Do you love her?"

"I love her," said Link.

"Do you love him?" asked Renado, pointing one quivering finger at the imp. But Midna was narrowing her eyes.

"I ate from your table, little shaman," said Midna, grinning her toothy grin, "and bit his finger under it- do you remember what he said? Eee hee hee! He said it was an old war wound! I've ruled worlds you never even knew about and I've watched you in the shadows when you thought you were alone and oh, shaman, let's not even talk about what _he's_ done. Between the two of us we've killed a dragon, a king, and one accredited god. Are you sure you're up for this? Eee hee hee!"

"Midna," said Link, consternated, "this was your damned idea-"

Renad held up a hand. "Are you afraid?" he asked her.

"Damn right I'm afraid," said Midna fiercely. "I've never done this before!"

"But do you love him?"

The imp fell silent for a moment. When she looked up again her eye was a perfect circle of surprise.

"I do," she said, and Renado smiled.

"Then you're married," he said. "I can't do you any better than that."

She turned to him with her candescent eyes wide but before she could say anything she was in his arms and he kissed her, and he kissed her, and he kissed her as Renado slipped demurely out of the room and Luda watched silently (approvingly?) from the doorway and the world, for all either of them were paying attention, fell to pieces around them.

She broke the kiss a moment later and looked into his eyes pleadingly. "Link?" she asked, "What happens now?" And he smiled.

"Now," he said, "you get to be Queen."

_Link's dream: _

He was standing in the grasslands with the wind waltzing down out of the mountains at his back, watching the clouds billow across the blue agave sky and enjoying the warmth of the noontide sun on his face.

He knew someone was coming, knew it because you know things in dreams, but he wasn't afraid, he had left his sword and shield somewhere (the lost woods?) but he wasn't afraid, he knew that there was nothing to be afraid of- everything was going to be fine, fine, just fine-

Was that him, loping across the grass? The discordant music of a broken chain chattered from the savanna. Was that him? Link didn't know. He kept his eyes on the clouds, far above him, because they were trying to tell him something, something vitally important. Was that him? Was that the wolf?

But how could he have ever thought it was a wolf? Because wolves had four legs and the man who was coming to see him, running to see him, clearly had only the two for his support. His tunic was flattened against his chest in the wind and his blond hair was a magnificent halo about his head and he was laughing, laughing and running, running and laughing. His friend. His oldest friend.

"What's so funny?" asked Link, and the other collapsed to his knees in front of him, breathing in short harsh gasps and laughing, and he bent in close to hear what he had to say but his friend had just been fighting for a good deep breath and what he had to say was meant for the very clouds to hear.

"Goddesses save me-" cried the madman, "You were right!_" and Link woke up with a smile on his face._


End file.
